


Amid My Solitude

by copperbadge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coda, F/M, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-11
Updated: 2003-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 62,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus attempts to understand his growing relationship with Tonks as he comes to leadership in the Order and explores his werewolf heritage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe much gratitude to the LJ crowd, who put up with my miscellaneous postings of snippets from this work for weeks; also to the Y!M regulars for letting me bounce ideas off them. Special thanks to Judy, Jill, Tai, and Yap, who beta'd relentlessly and quite well. 
> 
> Amid My Solitude was born of a one-shot called Breaking Control, which received such positive feedback on Fiction Alley that I decided to expand upon it.

He never told us what he was,   
Or what mischance, or other cause,   
Had banished him from better days   
To play the Prince of Castaways.   
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Remus Lupin never had any trouble passing.

Not passing tests, of course. He was a bright, gifted boy. Not passing for fully human, he'd become adept at that. Not passing for Muggle -- after all, when you've learned to watch even your friends for the slightest hint they knew what you were, even after you knew they knew what you were...well. Learning from Muggles came easily to Remus. A pair of brown trousers, a white collared shirt and a brown waistcoat, and he might be just an overworked accountant, or a burnt-out journalist. 

Passing for sober, well, that was harder, but Remus had a lot more self control than any of his mates could have dreamed of. There was one time, seventh year, when he and James had been down the pub drinking firewhiskey, and old Kiernan caught them sneaking back in. Remus had been forced to explain, coherently, that James was feeling ill, while the other boy was passed out on his shoulder.

They got away with it though. Who knew how, but they got away with it.

You can't spend your whole life thinking that way, though. 

James didn't get away with hiding, after all. Sirius didn't get away with taking stupid risks in the end and Peter...well, Peter got away with murder. So maybe you could. But only if you were willing to give up your humanity.

Hah.

As if he were really human anyhow.

He sat in the warm leather booth, in the upscale Muggle bar he'd found, and watched as Nymphadora Tonks wandered through. She was looking for him -- hell, most of the Order probably was -- and she'd find him, no matter how much he slouched down or turned away. So he didn't do either; he just waited, and drank his drink. Number five? Number four? Not that it mattered.

He caught the bartender's eye and held up two fingers. The man nodded and brought two more bottles out to the table, taking away the empty bottle near Remus' left hand. 

That got Tonks' attention, and he sighed. She made her way across the room, knocking over two chairs and a waitress on the way, apologising profusely. When she finally reached him, she put her hands on her hips. This would have been a bit terrifying if her elbow hadn't knocked over the beer sitting near the edge of the table. Remus caught it before it could spill.

Quick reflexes. Still passing for sober. Hooray. 

She was wearing glasses, he noticed, though it took him a second to figure out why. 

"Arthur," she snapped softly, and Arthur Weasley's head appeared in one of the lenses.

"Yes, Tonks?" came his voice, barely audible.

"I've found him."

"Is he all right?"

Tonks gave Remus a glare. "I think so."

"Hasn't done anything stupid, has he?"

"I'm right here, Arthur," Remus said reproachfully. 

"I'm aware of that," Arthur answered calmly.

"So you've found me. I'm not going to kill myself or anyone else. And I'm not Sirius Black," Remus added, and had the pleasure of seeing both Tonks and Arthur wince. "So you can bugger off and leave me the hell alone."

"I'll call the rest of them off," Arthur said. "You look after him."

"I planned on it," Tonks answered. Arthur's head vanished, and she took the glasses off. She did not sit down.

"I bought you a beer," Remus offered, holding it out to her. 

"You've got a lot of nerve, Lupin," she said, taking the beer and setting it back down on the table so hard that it shook. 

"Yes, I do hope I can afford that extra," Remus said, musingly. "I don't usually carry much Muggle money -- "

"It's not like the rest of us have anything else to worry about, oh no, none of us were upset. We had nothing better to do than go chasing after you."

"I did not ask you to come find me," Remus replied.

"What were we supposed to do?"

"I wasn't aware I had to ask permission before having a drink after a very long, very horrible day," he continued. "After all, I'm a grown man. I stood up and I gave my testimony and I didn't shed one damn tear, even when that horrible woman went into her lovely little diatribe about whether or not a werewolf could be trusted under oath. I thought to myself, _Remus, I think I'll go have a beer. I don't really want to be around while the rest of them stare at me as if I was some sort of tragic carnival freak._ "

"I don't think most of them know what a carnival is," Tonks answered, but there was a tacit apology in her voice.

"Their ignorance is not my problem."

"We all thought it was very wrong of them to debate your honesty right there in the inquiry," said Tonks, seating herself. She toyed with the beer bottle. "Arthur Weasley said he'd like to talk his boys into rigging up a surprise in her office. It didn't sound like it would be very nice."

"I don't see why we had to do it anyhow," Remus said rebelliously. "We couldn't clear his name while he was alive, I don't think a hearing's going to do him much good now that he's dead. Probably just come back with the same verdict anyhow. Peter Pettigrew's dead and Remus Lupin's a lying werewolf."

"Dumbledore thought it was important," Tonks reminded him. "Since there wasn't going to be a funeral."

"Who wanted a funeral?" Remus asked, furious. "Who needed a damn re-hashing of Sirius's whole wasted life? Who wanted that? Not bloody me, I can tell you that much. Let the poor man alone, for God's sake."

"Talking about him now, or about yourself?" she asked, taking a sip of the beer. He covered his eyes with his hand.

"I don't know, Tonks," he replied. "It...for a minute, it was like things were falling into place. I wasn't...we were rebuilding something. I had the Order back. We had Sirius back. I started thinking maybe...I started thinking even that Snape wasn't so bad, you know? That he was some kind of replacement. For Peter. Not really one of us, but there if you needed him. And then it all went to pieces again."

"Snape's still around. He likes you." Tonks considered this for a moment. "Well, he doesn't hate you as much as he could, anyhow. And the Order's still there."

"Yes, and where exactly is my place in it?"

"You know you -- "

"Please, Tonks, I haven't fit in anywhere since I was twenty," he snapped. She cocked her head at him, curious.

"Since you were twenty?" she asked. "What happened when you were -- oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"I was ten."

"I remember."

"I don't. Well, sort of," she said softly. "I remember mum waking me up in the middle of the night and telling me about it. Some of it," she added. "And later on, mum cried a lot. I remember that."

"She was very upset. Andromeda never believed Sirius was a traitor." Remus took a deep drink. "But I did. I hate myself for it, but I believed it. Who wouldn't? All those witnesses, and that ruddy finger...I didn't have just Sirius to be loyal to. I had to be loyal to James and Lily and Peter, too."

"Must've been awful for you."

Remus studied his bottle, while Tonks took a long drink. 

"I was in London," he said softly. "I was boarding with a Muggle family, working a Muggle job as a cover. We couldn't communicate -- the Order, I mean. We couldn't talk as much as we do now. Our enemies were at the height of their power. Another few months and I knew, even if Dumbledore wasn't going to say it -- the Order wasn't going to survive."

Tonks was watching him, curiously.

"So I didn't hear about it immediately," he continued, not sure why he was even bothering to tell her this. "And by then..."

His chest seized up, and he took another drink, trying to relax his muscles enough to continue talking. 

"Dumbledore came to the house. And we talked for a while. In two minutes, everyone I loved was suddenly gone. I don't have much family, my friends were all I ever really had -- and they were dead, and Sirius was responsible. Harry was gone to live with Muggles, and all across the country..."

"People were celebrating," Tonks said in a hushed voice. 

"I went down to Diagon Alley, you know, to get more news. I walked in and the place stopped dead. And everybody looked at me. They all knew. They just stared. Because one of my best friends killed three of the others. And I was left."

"What did you do?"

"Turned around and walked out. Found a Muggle bar," he said, a trace of irony in his voice. "Got very, very drunk. Old habits, I guess," he added. Tonks signalled the bartender for a second beer.

"Not the best way to deal with things, is it?" she asked.

"Do you really think, Tonks, that I have ever dealt with the fact that in one day I lost my entire life?" he asked. He would not cry in front of Tonks. He would not.

"How do you live with it, then?"

Remus shrugged. "You go on for a while, pretending that you're all right, and sooner or later..."

"...it's true?"

"No. You just get really good at pretending." He finished his drink. His head felt light; he wondered how long he'd been in the bar. He'd been drinking awfully fast, at first, and it felt like it was about to catch up to him.

"Hm?" he said, aware that Tonks had asked him something. 

"I said, and you had to go through it twice, didn't you?" she repeated, in a small voice. He didn't answer.

Not quite passing for sober anymore.

"Maybe you're right," he said. 

"About -- "

"Maybe I ought to go home," he continued, over top of her question. Then he remembered where home was. "Or maybe I ought to go anywhere but home," he concluded. "I'm damned if I'm going to sleep there tonight. Not after this day."

"There's a hotel just up the street that's not too bad," Tonks said.

"Can't afford a hotel," Remus muttered.

"The Order can," she answered. He laughed, bitterly.

"That's right!" he said brightly. "Sirus' share of the Black fortunes is in the hands of the Order, isn't it? How splendid."

"Don't, Remus."

"What? Don't appreciate the irony of it? Don't be angry because Sirius has literally given everything it is possible to give and the Ministry of Magic still thinks he's a murderer?"

"Don't be bitter."

"I don't know how to be anything else."

She sighed and got out of the booth, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's find you a place to sleep it off."

She tossed some crumpled Muggle money on the table. He was finding it mildly difficult to stand; Sirius and James had always teased him about being a lightweight, about that werewolf metabolism of his, which kept him ludicrously thin but didn't handle alcohol well at all. 

They wandered, Tonks half-supporting him, out into the evening, and up the street; he nearly fell over when she stopped in front of the hotel and he kept walking. 

"Thank you, Tonks," he said, when she finally leaned him against the wall in the elevator, after a brief conversation with the front desk. "I am," he said, carefully, "An absolute mess, aren't I?"

"Yes," she replied, toying with the keycard to the room. 

"Thank you for your honesty."

She helped him out into the hallway, and found the room, and unlocked it; inside was a bed and a dresser, nightstand and table -- all the usual accouterments of a room that people merely stayed in, rather than lived in.

"You'll be all right here," she said as he pulled off his shoes and socks, undid his waistcoat. 

"I think 'all right' is a relative state," he answered.

"You use awfully big words for a drunk man, Lupin," she said, squinting at herself in the mirror. Her hair went from long and brown to a short, pixie-like blonde. He smiled.

"Some people get maudlin. I get verbose," he replied. "And maudlin," he added, after a moment's thought.

"Lupin..."

"Mh?" he asked, undoing the top button of his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Do you..." she paused, and looked...almost embarrassed. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight? Until you're...asleep? Arthur's pretty much given me the night off, and..." 

A realisation dawned on him, and he blinked in its blinding light. "Are you trying to get a leg over, Tonks?" he blurted.

"A leg over? Who uses that expression anymore?" she asked, startled.

"I do," he replied, feeling a bit foolish. Of course she wasn't. He was ages older than her -- well, all right, ten years, still -- and he was a ragged, depressive, and at the moment quite sloppily drunk werewolf...

"And...erm...if I am?" she asked, trying to look mysterious and succeeding in knocking over the telephone book on the dresser. When she'd recovered it, he was watching her. 

"Everything I told you about tonight..." he said slowly, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. "That all happened...when I was twenty, and you were ten."

"What's that got to do with anything? I'm not ten anymore," she said. 

This was true, and the sort of logic that appealed to his senses at the moment.

Tonks was a lovely woman. An unutterable klutz and occasionally indiscreet, but a beautiful, nice, and friendly person. These were few and far between in his life. Of course it was mildly amusing to watch a woman a decade his junior try to seduce him while knocking over cups and phone books. And it was flattering, also.

And suddenly he really, really wanted it. His whole body wanted it. Bits of him were becoming quite insistent about wanting it. 

But.

He put his face in his hands. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

"And where, exactly, would that leave us in the morning, Tonks?" he asked. 

He felt her hands on his. She knelt -- fell over -- got back up and looked into his eyes, pulling his hands from his face.

"Well...we'd have had a fun night," she said thoughtfully.

"Do you really suppose you'd have all that much fun? The state I'm in?" he asked.

"I think so," she answered, and kissed him. He wasn't sure how to react to that, so he retreated to the tried and true method that had gotten him through lifelong lycanthropy and the deaths of his best friends -- he didn't react at all. She leaned back. He expected her to look hurt; instead she just looked puzzled.

"What exactly," she asked, thumbs stroking the palms of his hands, "does it take to break through that self-control of yours, Remus?"

The feeling of her fingers on the sensitive skin of his hands was distracting in the extreme. "There's a good reason for it," he answered absently.

"Here and now?"

"Everywhere. And always." Touch, touch, touch went her thumbs. It was difficult to breathe. 

"But I know your secrets." Touch. Touch. Slide of her hands up his arms, pushing his sleeves back. "I know who you are."

Slide again; one of her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt with a sudden and surprising dexterity. Fingertips on his bare skin.

Who you are. Not what you are. Who you are.

Lips on his, and still he didn't react. Pressure of her body against him, pushing him backwards. The world spinning, definitely hard to breathe, hard to think.

"I don't know if I even could let it go," he said hoarsely. "Nobody ever made me before -- "

"Have there been a lot of befores?" she asked. 

She had a point. There had been some, but not in a long time...

Never mind that now. Shirt off his shoulders. Counterpane beneath him. Weight on his hips, and still he did not move. 

Her hands left him, as she pulled her own shirt off over her head.

_No, don't stop touching me, I couldn't bear it if you didn't --_

He gave an inarticulate groan and rolled, taking her with him, pinning her underneath him. She cried out in surprise, but not for long. Lips on hers. Grabbing her wrists tightly, pulling her hands to him. Touching. Contact. Pressure. Clothing long gone, no longer an issue, _please touch me_...and she was more than obliging...

But there was one last little bastion of control, one small inner lockbox that could never, ever be bypassed. A failsafe deep in his soul as he moved with her, crying out, his face pressed to her neck, teeth -- 

No.

He would not bite. He wanted to, wanted to let that last go and surrender, but if he did that, he really wouldn't be human.

So instead he kissed and tasted her skin and when she cried out so did he, and for one second it was almost perfect. 

For a second the world went away. But only for a second.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked, after they had caught their breath, after he had wrapped his arms around her and they had kissed and touched their way through the silences. "I'd understand if you did."

Remus shook his head and pulled her tighter. He'd broken. It was horrible and wonderful at once, but whatever it had been, it had shattered something and he needed her to stay until it had healed. 

"Please don't go," he whispered. She touched one of his arms hesitantly.

"I was afraid for a minute you might bite me," she said.

"I know." And he had known, somewhere, that the intensity of what they'd just done had frightened her. 

"But you didn't."

"No." He closed his eyes, let his forehead press against hers. "So...did you...have fun?" he asked. She laughed.

"Yes, I did, Remus," she replied, her hand drifting up to stroke his cheek. He sensed, dimly, that it wasn't the same for her as it had been for him; a purge of emotions, yes, and the peculiar longing for human contact that comes when too much time is spent pondering death. But for her it had been just what she'd said -- fun. 

For him it was something much darker and more dangerous. A loss of control. Not since he was a boy had that happened when it wasn't the full moon. It was not fun for him, but this time, it had been necessary.

_What would I have done,_ he wondered, _if she hadn't found me tonight?_

The answer was easy. Keep on pretending. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending. Which was what he had to do anyway. 

So nothing was really any different, except that there was a woman sleeping in his arms, instead of a cold empty bed, and some of the perpetual tension in his shoulders and his belly had loosened a little. 

She sighed and her hand moved again, drifting down to rest against his neck. 

He would think about her hands and her body and her smile, and sleep with her here like this. He could go back to pretending in the morning. There would be time in the morning, when he was once more Remus Lupin, dependable able and trustworthy werewolf, whom everyone liked but nobody touched.

***

Remus Lupin did not usually enjoy his werewolf metabolism, other than that it kept him reasonably fit. It did have one advantage: it didn't take much to get him drunk, and at the same time, it conveniently prevented hangovers. For this he was grateful, the few times he'd had enough to really regret it in the morning.

Of course, it didn't prevent you doing stupid things while drunk. That would have been a bit much to ask for. 

He was in bed, but not his bed at his flat -- he'd given up his flat when the Order re-formed, anyhow. Certainly not in his bed at Siriu -- at the Black Hou -- at Headquarters. That bed was narrower, and a bit less firm. 

There usually weren't women in that bed, either. Not while he was also in that bed.

At least, he hoped it was a woman. He didn't think he'd been that drunk. 

All he could really see was short, spiky blonde hair. She was curled up in a ball under the covers, a few inches from his outstretched hand. Slowly, he probed his memory.

Ah.

Yes.

He'd gone for a drink, because there had been the inquiry into the imprisonment of Sirius Black. Long overdue, Dumbledore said. The man had never been given a proper trial, and now, he never could have one. No body -- he couldn't even have a funeral.

All he could have, now, was an inquiry. 

And Remus had been called to testify, and a woman on the inquiry board had made issue over his trustworthiness. Because he was a werewolf. Because he was Sirius' friend. As if it hadn't been hard enough to see the closed, frightened looks of the board of inquiry, and know in a despairing sort of way that no matter how much they trusted him --and they didn't, not at all -- they were probably going to find the same as had been found years ago. Sirius Black was a stone killer and Peter Pettigrew was dead.

The hopelessness had overwhelmed. One drink turned into two, into four, more than that, and he was a lightweight. It'd been enough to make him unsteady on his feet by the time Tonks -- oh, good lord, it was Tonks lying in the bed with him.

_You are a stupid git, Remus Lupin. A stupid, useless git._

He had mentioned to her that she was ten years younger than him. She knew he was a werewolf. He was fairly sure he hadn't forced her to do anything, but werewolves were awfully strong, and he did recall pinning her underneath him -- 

There she was. Inches from his hand. So easy to reach out for. 

She gave a little soft moan and rolled over, bright eyes fixing on his face. Her hand slid up to touch his.

"Morning, Remus," she said softly. "Thought you were awake."

"You did?" he asked, surprised. 

"You don't breathe enough," she said. He felt his eyebrows draw together. "You breathe deeply when you sleep. When you're awake, you're nervous. I can tell when I hear you breathing." The pads of her fingertips touched his. "I'm trained to notice," she added.

"How long have you been noticing things about me, Tonks?" he asked, trying not to sound accusatory. 

"Since I found out you were a werewolf," she replied. "I'd never met one before except on..."

"...official business?"

She winced, slightly.

"We're not a very nice lot, on the whole," Remus mused. "Were you watching for me to break out one day and horribly kill someone, or -- "

"It's not like that. I was curious. I just wanted to see what you were like."

He pulled his hand away and sat up. He'd have climbed out of the bed, but he was still naked, and he had enough sense to know that dignity was not something you could preserve while standing unclothed in front of someone. 

"Remus, I just -- listen, it's what we do, all right? Aurors? We look at people and we take them to pieces. I do it to everyone."

"You'll excuse me if I'm oversensitive to these things," he said, turning away. After a second, he felt her hands on his arms, her chin on his left shoulder. The barest brush of her body against his back. He remembered begging her to touch him, not to stop. He wasn't sure whether he was ashamed he'd begged, or happy that he hadn't really had to.

"It's too early in the morning for this," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"I would have said it to anyone," she whispered. 

"I know."

"I stayed because you were hurting. Not because I wanted..."

He turned his head, slightly. She had gone pink.

"Wanted...?" he prompted. She looked down, her nose pressed to his shoulder.

"A couple of the Order...think it would be...well, that is, they'd like to...know."

"Know?"

"About werewolves."

"Oh." He digested this. "You mean, what it's like to...oh, that's morbid..."

"Not really. The lure of the exotic."

He laughed, bitterly. "Exotic! Who..."

"Oh, you know. Women talk. Some of the...girls, my age..." He felt her shrug. "And Molly Weasley thinks you're handsome."

"Molly? But Arthur -- "

"She's married, Remus, not dead. And Blynton Blythe."

"But Blythe's a bloke -- " Remus was aware, now, of the shallow breathing that Tonks had mentioned. "Ah. Aha. What a well of information you are, Tonks."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I don't mind. I mean -- you tell who you want. What you want."

"And you."

He smiled. "Who would I tell?"

"I'm going to tell Molly," she said, wickedness in every syllable. He laughed outright.

"Tonks, you're too young for me," he said, when the laughter had settled.

"Course I am. I don't care."

"You will."

"Well, as long as we're both forewarned," she replied, kissing his shoulder. "Hungry?"

"Are you?"

"Ravenous."

***

"Hallo, Tonks!" Molly Weasley called from the kitchen, when Tonks walked into the front living room. She and Remus had gone in through the back door of Headquarters, and he'd gone straight to his rooms, pleading that he wanted some tea from his private stash before he'd feel able to face people again. 

"Morning, Molly," Tonks replied with a smile, ducking into the kitchen and searching the cupboards for some cereal. "You're here early."

"We stayed the night. Got to be too late to go home after we stopped off searching, and Arthur thought we could use some time away from the children," Molly said fondly. "I might say the same thing about you."

"Oh, I was bringing Remus back," Tonks said lightly. 

"Yes, that's right, you looked after him last night. I hope he wasn't too much trouble. Arthur said he was a bit rude."

"It was fine. Once he figured out I wasn't going anywhere, he settled down."

"I thought he might. Remus is many things, but I can't imagine him a rowdy drunk," Molly added. Tonks took milk from the fridge, added some to her cereal, and leaned on the counter, eating. "He's got too much control for that."

Tonks nearly snorted milk through her nose. 

"Are you all right dear?" Molly asked.

"Fine," Tonks gasped. "Sorry, we were just...talking about that. Last night. Remus and control, I mean. He and I were talking about it."

"Have a nice long chat, did you? Probably did him the world of good."

"Not a particularly long chat," Tonks murmured. Molly set down her mug and regarded her.

"You're being awfully cryptic this morning," she observed. "And you've got a smile on your face like the cat that got the -- "

Tonks watched as amused realisation spread over Molly's face like a sunrise. 

"You did, didn't you? You got yourself a nice yellow canary, didn't you, Tonks?"

Tonks grinned, and nodded. Molly began to laugh.

"Good for you! And for him, he could use a bit of -- oh, Arthur!" 

Arthur Weasley, stepping into the kitchen, looked from one grinning woman to the other and sighed. "All right, what did I do?" he asked. Molly laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"Do let me tell him, Tonks? They're such friends and he'll be glad to hear it -- "

Tonks smiled. "I don't think Remus will care. He said I could tell who I liked, he didn't mind."

"Tell me what?" Arthur asked.

"Tonks shagged Remus last night," Molly said, mischief dancing in her eyes. Arthur beamed. 

"Well, it's about time someone did," he said, taking some of the milk Tonks had left in the carton and adding it to his tea. "Though I must say I wouldn't have -- good morning, Lupin!" he called, as Remus -- washed, shaved, and in clean clothes -- loomed in the doorway. 

"Morning, Molly, Arthur," Remus replied, carrying his tea carefully to the breakfast table and seating himself. "Sorry about yesterday," he added, staring into his mug.

"Quite all right, old chap, I'd have done the same if I'd thought of it," Arthur said cheerfully. So cheerfully, in fact, that Remus looked up suspiciously.

All three of them were grinning at him. He rested his head on his hands.

"I did think you'd wait at least an hour, Tonks," he said, with an amused look. 

"Sorry." Tonks tried very hard to look contrite. "Molly ambushed me."

"I think it's splendid," Arthur announced. "Bit of exercise, bit of fun, and you couldn't ask for a prettier girl to kiss than Nymphadora Tonks, I say."

"Thank you, Arthur," Remus said, covering his eyes as Tonks turned scarlet. "Very subtle. Very subdued."

"Oh, I'll keep mum," Arthur answered. "Well done."

Tonks looked a bit askance at this, but Arthur gave her a thumbs-up as he left the kitchen, followed by Molly, who was laughing too hard for words.

"You should have come down earlier, you missed the bit where he said it was about time someone shagged you," Tonks said sympathetically.

"Is my nonexistent sex life the occupation of the entire Order, or just most of it?" Remus asked.

"I'm pretty sure defeating the Dark Lord comes in somewhere, but I confess I've never seen it myself," Tonks replied, seating herself across from him. "You clean up all right, you know," she said. He smiled.

"You enjoyed yourself last night, did you?" he asked. "Aside from me being a drunken git?"

"Oh, I enjoyed that too."

"I'll make a note," Remus said wryly. "So what are your plans for the day?"

"Day off," she said. "The Order hasn't got much for me to do, so I thought I'd go home. I'll check in with Kingsley, make sure he hasn't got anything that needs seeing to, perhaps do some shopping. You?"

"I thought I'd sleep. Rather a lot," Remus replied. "I'm sure if there'd been any news about the verdict, we'd have heard. They'll probably wait until Monday now. So I shall sleep, and attempt not to think. At all."

"It must be hard, not having a regular job," Tonks said quietly.

"It's a bloody holiday," Remus said bitterly, into his tea. 

"Well, have a good sleep," she replied, understanding that now was probably the time to let him alone for a while. She stood and set the now-empty cereal bowl in the sink, where a scrub brush began to wash it. "I'll be round tomorrow evening if you're here, Arthur's having one of his pot-luck dos."

"I should be," he said, with a nod. "Tonks, listen -- "

She cut him off with a kiss, quick and sweet, nibbling just a little on his bottom lip. He stared up at her, wide-eyed. 

"See you then," she said, and was gone. 

Remus, left in the kitchen with his cooling tea, touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb thoughtfully. After a while, tea growing cold, he finished it off and stood, moving through the quiet house carefully.

He'd always been bookish as a child, even before he was bitten, and he liked to read -- except during his most poverty-stricken days, he always had money for books, and he would read anything, voraciously. It was helpful, sometimes, too; books always gave him ideas for papers or monographs, and he could sometimes sell them to academic journals, newspapers, magazines. It wasn't much money, but it was something.

He had truly intended to get some sleep, after Tonks left. No matter how good Molly and Arthur were at keeping secrets, the rumours were sure to fly, and he wanted to be conveniently unavailable should anyone come knocking.

But some chance phrase he'd found, in the book he'd selected for reading before he fell asleep, sparked an interest. He'd gotten up and gone to the small stack of books on his desk, leafing through them until he found what he was looking for. After that he'd had to dress and go back downstairs to the Black family library, where he'd spent most of the afternoon (fortunately, buried in the stacks where no-one thought to look for him). He stopped to eat when he was hungry, but before he realised what had happened, it was nearly ten in the evening.

Better that way, perhaps. When he lay down, he didn't think about the hearing, or about Sirius. And he didn't think about Tonks.

But he dreamed about her.

He woke in the night and went back to work again, consulting books, scratching notes, feverishly copying out the rough draft and adding to it. He'd never been good at sleeping through the night at any rate. Hadn't James always bugged him about waking them all up with his midnight studying?

He slept again around two a.m. and woke feeling exhausted, but went back to work. If he could finish this article he was sure he could sell it, and if he didn't wrestle it onto the page now, he never would. 

He didn't hear Arthur and Molly arrive or call for him; he didn't hear anyone else either, until someone Apparated outside his window with a bang that startled him so badly he nearly knocked over his inkwell.

He became aware that there were voices downstairs, shouts and greetings and laughter; if he listened hard he could pick out the Weasleys and Snape, Dumbledore and Kingsley, and others too. 

He glanced down at the essay, which lacked only an introduction and a conclusion, sighed, and closed the book on his lap.

He wasn't in the mood for a dinner party, but he knew that Arthur had arranged this to keep everyone sane while they waited to hear from the inquiry board. So he dropped his books into his bag, rolled up his parchment around his quill and added that and a stoppered inkwell, and prepared to face the masses. If he was truly desperate to escape, he could always say he was just passing through to somewhere important. 

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, something exploded nearby, and he jumped; suddenly four or five people descended, scolding, apologising, and declaring that he looked white as a sheet. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." Fred and George chanted. "We were just testing out the new exploding gum products," Fred explained, pointing to a few small twists of pink chewing gum on the doorframe. "Stick 'em to a door and if someone walks through it, they explode. Very useful alarm system, and cheap."

"Also an effective murder weapon," Remus murmured, heart still hammering. 

"Have some free of charge," George said, pressing a pack into Remus' hand. Remus very quickly found someone else's pocket to stuff it into. 

"Are you okay? What on earth -- Weasleys!" Tonks exclaimed, examining the doorway. "Fred, I'm going to kill you!"

"What about me?" George called -- they were already halfway across the room, demonstrating the gum to someone else. 

"You'd best just watch your step, since I can't tell you apart!" she shouted. She turned back to Remus, straightening his collar. "Are you all right?"

"I'm having a heart attack, but otherwise fine," he managed, pushing himself away from the wall. "I think I'll get a glass of water..."

Tonks followed him as he pushed through the press of people in the smallish living room -- once a den, Remus thought, for Sirius' father -- and into the kitchen. It was warmer here but less crowded; Molly was stirring something on the counter.

"Remus! When did you show up?" she asked. "I thought you'd gone out."

"Buried in work," Remus answered, setting the book bag on the counter. He was shaking, just a little, as he poured himself a glass of water. "Anything I can help with in here?"

"Would you keep an eye on the roast?" Molly asked, a note of pleading in her voice. "I did so want to go say hello to a few people..."

"I think I can be safely employed in making sure cooked meat does not escape," Remus replied. Molly smiled and patted his arm as she passed.

"You look a bit like death warmed over, you know," Tonks said, coming to lean on the counter next to him. "I hope you didn't spend all weekend thinking about the inquiry."

"I didn't sleep well," he said, which was perfectly true. He felt heat creep over his cheeks as he remembered one dream in particular that had been a reason he hadn't slept well.

"There's a little colour," Tonks said critically. "Really, your cheekbones are criminally high."

Remus looked at her, confused. "They're just cheekbones, Tonks."

"Perhaps to you," she replied. "To the rest of the world they are a mighty weapon in the war between the sexes."

"Yes, Remus Lupin, Don Juan. Somehow I think not. Chewing gum gives me palpitations, I think I'd rather just find a corner and read."

"That's not what you said Friday night," Tonks replied. He'd just got the last blush under control...

"Yes, well. You weren't exactly a shy violet yourself," he reminded her, rather more curtly than he meant to. A grin broke over his face. "In fact I don't recall, in our strange and rather varied friendship, you ever making quite those noises before -- "

"Stop it!" she laughed, shoving his arm. Water spilled on his waistcoat. "Oh, dear -- I'm sorry -- "

The shock of cold water did him good; he had a certain amount of dignity to uphold, and here he was hiding in the kitchen, flirting with a woman so much younger -- she was Charlie Weasley's age, for crying out loud -- 

Of course, on the other hand, Charlie was a fine grown man, holding a steady job and all -- and so was Tonks. Well, not a man, obviously.

_But,_ said a small voice in the back of his head, _she's very finely grown indeed..._

Tonks had managed to acquire a trail of paper towels and was trying to sop up the water which was making a dark spot on his waistcoat. He took her hand away, gently, grasping her wrist and pulling it to the side.

"It'll dry in a few minutes, it's warm in here," he said. "Don't worry, Tonks, I'm fine. No harm done."

"I spilled some punch on Snape already," she said. "This is why I hate parties. I'm always knocking people over or dropping my food or something. I do wish I could be just a little more graceful -- "

Remus, still holding her wrist, found himself watching, detached, as he pulled her slightly closer. He tilted his head until their foreheads were almost touching.

"I find you quite graceful, Tonks," he said quietly. 

"You do?" she asked. He could feel her breath on his cheek. 

"When sufficiently motivated," he replied. 

"Come along, the food's right in -- oh." 

Remus looked up, past Tonks' shoulder, as Molly and about a dozen of their Order colleagues came through the kitchen door. Tonks stepped away swiftly, treading on one of his feet as she did so. Molly, ever the mother hen, composed herself quickly.

"You see, we've got two of our top agents guarding it," she said, with a light laugh. "Take the cover off the roast, Remus, if you would, and Tonks, can you -- oh, no dear, better not toss the salad..."

***

Remus had never paid much attention to the way he was treated by the other members of the Order. He was just one of them, and he was grateful that he was more or less accepted, so he didn't look too closely. It had become a habit with him, in the Order. _Don't look, in case you might not like what you see..._

But Tonks had said things to him, about him, that made him examine faces a little more closely at this gathering. Not just the women, though it started that way; he watched how some of them watched him, saw one or two girls maneuvering quite subtly to end up next to him in line for the food. He wasn't sure whether it was flattering or disturbing. Surely it couldn't just be...what had Tonks said? The lure of the exotic? These women, whom he'd thought to be sensible, logical people, couldn't want to get to know him out of pure morbid curiosity about werewolves? 

He watched the men, wondering if they saw it too, and realised something quite strange was going on. 

A couple of the younger ones, who were nominally under the authority of the twins, were mimicking him, taking the food he took, shyly standing near whatever group he was talking to. He had always assumed that, at any party, people constantly moved from group to group, but he began to realise that he was the one moving -- that most everyone else stayed put, or at least didn't move quite so often as he did. And when he arrived at a new group, they deferred to his authority, or fell silent if he had a question. 

It began to make him downright uncomfortable. 

These people he'd thought were his friends, were they afraid of him? The silence that fell over them when he approached -- was that because they'd been discussing him? Surely not, it was the height of ego to presume, but what other explanation was there?

He sidled up to Arthur just as the other man was finishing his meal. "Can I have a word?" he asked quietly. Arthur nodded, and excused himself from the trio of people he was talking to. 

"What's the matter? Mission from Dumbledore?" Arthur asked, when they were alone in one corner of the kitchen. Remus shook his head.

"Do you notice anything odd about the Order?" he said, trying to look as if he were simply talking shop. Arthur's brow furrowed. 

"Odd? How?"

"Just..." Remus gave him a frustrated look. "There are people following me, Arthur. I was taken for a spy once before, you know, and I'm not keen -- "

Arthur held up a hand, stopping him. "No-one thinks you're a spy, Remus. Who's following you?"

"Only about half the women in the organisation, and -- "

"Your harem, you mean?"

Remus stared, openly horrified. "My what?"

"It's what the younger lads call it. I did wonder why you had so much trouble finding a girl when about ten of them would be willing, at any time, to follow you home," Arthur said, amused. "I applaud your taste, though. Tonks is -- "

" -- Tonks is Tonks," Remus said irritably. "That was just the once. They're not the only ones, you know. And people stop talking when I'm around, until I talk, and -- " 

He broke off, because Arthur was looking at him with a mixture of admiration and pity.

"For a smart man, Lupin, you're a bit on the thick side," he said. Remus bridled at this. "Didn't you notice?"

"Notice what? What am I supposed to notice? Obviously someone ought to tell me, since I'm a bit on the thick side!" Remus hissed.

"Who runs the Order?" Arthur asked.

"Dumbledore, of course. What's that got to -- "

"And who keeps track of everyone and makes sure things get done?"

"You and Molly, but -- "

"And who actually figures out how Dumbledore's orders get carried out, and supervises the plans, and trains new people, and assigns people to their jobs?" Arthur continued. Remus pursed his lips.

"Well, the twins are pretty good at planning, and -- "

"Remus, who tells them to do those things? Who makes sure they get done?" Arthur sighed at the other man's blank look. "You do. They're not talking about you when you walk up. They stop talking because it's the respectful thing to do. The youngsters follow you around because they want to hear what you're saying. They want to be like you."

"Like me? Why?"

"Because you're the leader, Remus. Please do try to grasp this, Molly isn't going to wait for me to go say hello to Kingsley much longer. Dumbledore tells us what to do and you tell us how to do it. If Dumbledore died tomorrow, who'd take over? Me? Not likely. You know the most about what's happening, and you get the most information back from the outside." Arthur clapped him on the arm. "Welcome to responsibility and leadership, Remus. It's not much fun, but someone has to do it."

And he walked away, leaving the werewolf standing in a corner, holding an empty plate, bereft of a single coherent thought.


	2. Chapter 2

His mien distinguished any crowd,   
His credit strengthened when he bowed;   
And women, young and old, were fond   
Of looking at the man Flammonde.  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

"There you are dear, I was wondering when Remus was going to stop monopolising you," Molly said, as Arthur appeared at her elbow. "Kingsley's just brought news from down south, and I thought you two might discuss it."

"It's nothing urgent," Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled with a toothy grin. "How've you been keeping yourself, Weasley?"

"Pretty well," Arthur replied. Tonks, sidling up next to Kingsley, passed him a few letters and greeted the Weasleys with a grin. "Wait until you hear what undercover work Tonks has been doing -- "

"Now, now, don't be a tale-carrier, Arthur," Molly said severely, as Tonks blushed. Kingsley raised his eyebrows, but didn't inquire further. 

"I tell you what, why don't you make a quick report now, and then we can enjoy the party," Arthur said, leading Kingsley away. 

Tonks noticed Remus, standing alone at the edge of the counter, staring at his drink as if it would rise up out of the cup and bite him. Come to think of it, Snape had been in charge of the drinks, so perhaps it could. Tonks still had memories -- patchy, admittedly -- of the many times she'd blown things up in Snape's class. He still flinched whenever he saw her pick up a cup.

"Arthur and I both think it's a good thing," Molly said softly. Tonks looked back at her, startled. "He's a good man, Tonks."

"Oh, we're not -- I mean, it was just the once...just for fun, really," Tonks added.

"Hmm, and just now, when you two were supposed to be guarding the roast, that was just fun also?"

"Do you think anyone saw?"

"Only about half the Order," Molly said comfortingly. "Admittedly, from where we were, he could have been trying to help you fix a hangnail."

"I don't want all kinds of gossip flying about either of us."

"Then kissing in the kitchen of Headquarters is probably not the way to go." Molly patted her arm. Tonks turned to look at Remus again, but he'd vanished. "Listen, poor Severus is sitting all alone again, I'm going to go try and have a chat," Molly said. 

"I think he rather likes sitting alone," Tonks answered. Molly sighed.

"Now there's a man could use some fun even more than Remus," she agreed, as she wandered towards the sullen man in the living room. Tonks, peering about, realised that the bag Remus had brought downstairs was still sitting on the counter. She picked it up, and glanced around for him. 

Well, she was an Auror after all, she thought, as she took a scroll out of the bag and unrolled it, catching the quill in the centre as she did so. Notes of some sort; it looked like an essay on advanced charms.

She rolled it back up, replaced it in the bag, and started for the stairs. Perhaps he'd gone up to fetch something.

She'd never seen Remus' room -- rooms, really, as he lived at Headquarters and so was entitled to one of what must have once been guest-suites on the second floor. Most Order operatives had a bedroom in the sprawling house, but even those looked more lived-in than the spartan place she saw when she knocked, pushing the door open gently.

There was a bare desk piled with books, a rickety chair, and a tattered sofa covered in what looked suspiciously like wolf hair, all arranged haphazardly in the room. The only real human touch was an enormous bookshelf, in utter disarray, contrasting with the neat bareness of the rest of the space. There wasn't even a rug. 

Remus Lupin stood in the middle of the room, two fingers on his lips, his left hand supporting his right elbow.

"You left your bag downstairs," she said, holding it out to him. "I thought you might've run off from the party."

"Hm. Thanks," he replied absently, accepting the bag and putting it on the couch without even looking at it.

"What're you...doing?" she asked, coming in to look around. As far as she could tell, he was staring at the fireplace intently.

"Thinking," he replied.

"About...?" When he didn't answer, she tried again. "About Sirius?"

"Erm...actually..." he finally seemed to notice she was there, and put his hands on his hips. "About furniture."

"Furniture?"

"Yes, well, if I'm going to be here a while, I mean I ought to make it sort of homelike, don't you think?"

Tonks glanced around. "Haven't you...already been here for a while?"

"Yes, but that was before I knew I was staying."

Tonks wished, plaintively, for a map of the human mind. "Why wouldn't you be staying?" she asked.

"Oh, I never stay," he said. "I mean, I'm always getting fired or chucked out or leaving because the alternative is worse. So if I'm going to be staying I think I ought to devote some real thought to furniture."

"Did someone spike your punch?"

He gave her a smile and moved to lean on his desk, shaking his head. "I just realised that the Order isn't going to throw me out. They nearly did last time, you know, they thought I was a spy. Apparently, however, I'm rather more important this time round."

"Course you are. Nothing would get done otherwise."

"No-one's indispensable, Tonks."

"No, but it'd be tough going taking orders from Snape all the time," she said, and was gratified to see him laugh.

"Now then, Tonks, bugger off and find something to keep you occupied," he said, in an excellent imitation of Severus Snape's low voice. "I haven't time to think about other people, I'm far too immersed in my own angst."

Tonks grinned, and examined his bookshelf. 

"It's just that nobody told me I was supposed to be leading anything," Remus said, in a more serious tone. "It's awful to find out second-hand that you're an authority figure."

"I suppose everyone took it for granted that you knew. You always know everything else."

"I doubt that." He shook his head. "For instance, there's the Tonks question. Two, really."

"Oh yes?" she asked, hands on hips. "And what are those?"

"Well, firstly, I can't go about calling you Tonks, it's ridiculous. You know there are infinite ways to shorten Nymphadora, which I admit is an awful thing to do to a child. You could be Nym -- "

"Oh yes. Nym is a huge improvement over Tonks."

"Or Dora, that's a nice name. Or Adora."

"Might as well name me Narcissa, if you're going to call me Adora. And Dora's too plain."

"I may call you Dora anyhow."

"I'll call you Remy." She saw him shudder. "Truce?"

"All right."

"And what's the second question?" 

He looked her in the eye, and then glanced away. "The true Tonks question," he murmured. "How I'm going to stop thinking of you in ways no self-respecting thirty-four-year-old werewolf ought to be thinking of a twenty-four-year-old Auror."

Tonks blushed a little and then realised that her hair had turned red as well. Remus gave her a funny little smile.

"Good trick," he said, nervously trying to change the subject. 

"D'you remember what you told me on Saturday?" she asked. "That you're too old for me, and not at all safe?"

Remus, still half-seated on the desk, nodded soberly.

"I am...my work. Every hour, every day. I'm not very mature. Sometimes I have green hair. I'm suspicious of people, and I never say what I'm thinking," Tonks said, moving so that she stood far too close, between his legs. He bowed his head. "I read the article in your book bag out of sheer nosy curioity. I tend to knock things over. And I'm too young for you," she added, tipping his chin up. "So you see we are not a match made in heaven. And you don't have to worry that we'll hurt each other, because we're bound to, and it's too late to stop now. If I walked away right this minute, wouldn't it hurt you terribly? If you pushed me off, don't you think I'd be upset?"

Admittedly it was difficult to think rationally when a woman's thighs were pressed against yours, but Remus found the logic, however circular, to be intriguing. _We can't hurt each other right now, because we're bound to later..._

"Why are you doing this, Tonks?" he asked. "Last time I could understand, we were both upset and I for one was drunk, and I...needed it. But why now?"

Tonks smiled. "I like you. I like talking with you. I like it when you make me make those little noises you've never heard before. You're fun, and besides it makes everyone else awfully jealous."

He laughed, a little at that, and let her slide her thumb up over his cheek. Her left hand began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"Scandalous," he said, against her mouth. "Thirty people at least, downstairs, eating their dessert and talking shop -- "

"Nobody paid any attention when I left," she answered. His hands had tugged open the robe she wore, pushed it off her shoulders, and slid against the light cotton tunic underneath. 

"Lucky girl," he said, his lips over her pulse, trying to concentrate on her and not on the maddening way her hips pressed against his. When his thumbs stroked her breasts, she let out a small exhalation of air against the skin just under his earlobe, ruffling the downy hair there. He tensed.

"Did I do something -- "

"No, no," he said hurriedly, lifting his head from the crook of her neck. "No, it was...it felt quite good," he said lamely. She grinned.

"I've discovered a weak spot," she said, low and throaty.

"One of many, I fear," he answered. 

She pushed his shirt off and it fell to the desk, covering some of his books. She hadn't noticed last time -- had been too intent on his face and hands, on the smooth hard skin of his stomach -- but the soft, tufty hair behind his ears did not stop at his neckline; it extended down over his shoulders, ending a few inches away, so thin and fine that she had trouble even seeing it. 

She ran her fingers through his brown hair, already threaded with too much grey, and down across his shoulders. He threw his head back, almost whimpering.

"That's really a rather...sensitive part..." he managed. "Would you mind terribly if I...suggested the bedroom? Only...this desk is a bit rotten and I think we might break it -- "

She laughed and nodded, and let him guide her into the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway to press her to the frame and kiss her with that same absorbed attention he devoted to everything he felt really mattered. 

"The doors will lock themselves," he said, between urgent kisses and hands undressing, clothing falling to the floor. "Werewolf precaution."

"Bring a lot of girls up here, do you?" she asked teasingly. He pressed her back into the bed and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, thumbs stroking his neck. He gasped.

"Just the one..." he said, hands on her thighs, spreading them gently. "There's a girl I know..."

It was, in some ways, not at all different from the last time they'd done this; Remus was not the most deft of lovers, but he made up for it in his absolute focus. She ought to be scared; he expected her to be frightened of his single-minded intensity. But it was far too exciting, and it felt far too good to have his lean body cover hers, to know that for this short moment he was thinking of nothing except for her. 

She, on the other hand, was too aware of too many things; the last gold of the sunset through the slats of his blinds, the smell of books and ink, the blankets cushioning them. She heard every breath, every sound they made, forming an odd rhythm in her ears, one which would not settle. 

***

Remus was buried in a world that had shrunk to include only himself and the woman beneath him, her hands on his shoulders, her curving belly and hips, her breasts; just the feel and sight of her was overwhelming enough, but to be moving with her, inside her, to have her touch him in ways that he had never allowed anyone -- even other women, never had let them, had trusted them enough to let their hands roam as hers were doing. 

_You make me lose control, I can't control you and I don't want to, because it's so...good..._

And then even before his low, final moan had faded from the echoing room, the tension rushed back -- he must certainly have frightened her this time, he had barely heard anything she'd said, and what if she'd been telling him stop, she was scared -- 

He pushed himself back, dismayed, and looked down at her face.

She was smiling.

Smiling! With her face smooth and full of lazy pleasure, eyes closed, lashes delicate and dark against her cheek. A curl of red hair clung to her temple, and he brushed it away hesitantly. He flinched when she drew her legs up against his hips. 

"I think," she said slowly, eyes still closed, "that we have here the makings of a really great shared hobby."

He laughed, relieved and almost a little hysterical, and lowered himself to kiss her, to roll slightly so that he wouldn't crush her. 

"Athletic and inexpensive," he managed. She pressed her face into the hollow of his collarbone, nuzzling gently. "Though I imagine sooner or later they're going to miss us downstairs."

"Later," she said, against his skin. 

"I'm afraid I ought to go back. Apparently I'm a leader. I believe this means I'll have to lead, at some point."

"You've been doing fine up till now."

"Yes, but I haven't had lovely naked distractions up till now."

"It's good to have hobbies. Reading big books on boring things, writing cryptic essays with long words, sleeping with Tonks..."

"I have a feeling not everyone is going to be as exuberant about it as Molly and Arthur," he said, reluctantly sliding to the edge of the bed and gathering up his clothing. He passed her some of hers, and she gave him a sulky look as she pulled on her tunic. 

"Maybe I'll stay over at Headquarters tonight. Wake you up at two a.m. in the altogether and see how dutiful you feel then," she said, squeezing the back of his neck.

"If you actually manage to wake me up at two a.m., Tonks, I will be forced to kill you," he replied, doing up the last button on his shirt. He stood and turned to face her. "Do I look presentable?"

"Eminently. The picture of a sober, conservative Order officer," she replied. "How do I look?"

"Like an imposing, objective Auror," he said, with a smile. "Go on down. I'll be there soon."

When she was gone, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face, trying to ignore the thoughts whirling in his head.

Busy afternoon.

He laughed, slightly bitterly, and ran his hands up through his hair. Busy, busy Remus Lupin, studious werewolf, scholarly researcher, high official in a secret society, playtoy of a young Auror...

Somewhere, in some afterlife, Pads and Prongs were laughing themselves stupid over this.

***

As it turned out, several of the Order stayed the night; Fred and George lived there, of course, as it was convenient to Diagon Alley and the business that they were currently pouring all their resources into. Arthur and Molly had to get home and make sure Ron and Ginny hadn't strangled each other, but Mad-Eye Moody decided not to face the chilly evening trip, and Dumbledore said that he had no pressing business back at the school. 

And Tonks stayed.

In Remus Lupin's bed.

Though, to be fair, mostly what they did was sleep. Well, Tonks slept, anyhow. Remus lay awake, replaying his conversation with Arthur over top of a long series of memories from the last few months. He remembered being irritated that the twins were pestering him about jobs to give the other young Order members, and he recalled that several times, people had come to him with the excuse that they couldn't reach Dumbledore. 

He wondered if it had been some sly maneuver on Dumbledore's part, or some inadvertent misstep of his own -- if he had been gently nudged into this, or if he had stepped in unconsciously to fill the void. He rather thought the former. That was Dumbledore all over. 

Tonks breathed evenly, her arm draped over his waist, her face pressed against his shoulder-blade. He wondered whether her being the one to find him, the night he'd gone drinking, was also a fortunate coincidence. Probably so. Nobody could have known what bar he'd go to, especially when it was a Muggle bar. 

It had certainly proved fortunate for him.

But what should he do with his newfound authority in the Order? Keeping on as he had done, well, that had its appeal; it was what Remus Lupin did -- dealt with the moment and pressed onward, not looking back if he could help it. 

On the other hand, he ought to try and work the power line -- get Dumbledore to make a few changes. He supposed, if he had to, he had the power to come up with his own plans. He could make it Order business to find out things he, Remus Lupin, wanted to find out about Voldemort's activities. 

He should make a list. Normally he would get up, fumble his way to his desk and, half-asleep, scribble down notes for the morning. But he was warm and comfortable, and sleepy. And he didn't want to wake Tonks. If he did, she might try something, and he was already exhausted. 

As he drifted off, he had one final thought. 

_I know what the first thing I'll do will be..._

***

Somewhere in the world, bacon was frying.

Remus opened his eyes and sniffed. Eggs, too. Someone was frying bacon and eggs. Bacon and eggs were being brought from potentia into existence. Arteries across the country were clanging shut. Heart valves were shrieking in protest. Someone, nearby, was going to tempt him into an early death.

He pulled the blanket back and was halfway out of the bed before he realised Tonks was still in it, curled up against him in a nestlike ball of blankets, sheets, pillow, and a firm death grip on his pyjamas.

"Someone has food," she said into the blankets.

"I know. I'm going to hunt them down, kill them, and steal it," he answered.

"I'll help."

"Come on," he said, pulling her out of the tangle of bedclothes. "If we don't get there soon, someone else may get it first."

When they stumbled into the kitchen, Tonks throwing a robe around her shoulders and Remus trying to comb his hair down to manageable size, Dumbledore and the twins were presiding over a massive frying pan, while Moody read the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table. Well, one of his eyes did. The other swiveled up to watch them as they entered.

"Please feed us!" Remus blurted, accepting a mug of tea from George. Or possibly Fred, it was far too early in the morning to discern who was who.

"How much?" Fred-or-perhaps-George asked, flipping an egg.

"Lots."

"Twice the lots he gets," Tonks added.

By the time they were settled at the kitchen table, Remus had woken up enough to be civil, and the twins were excitedly discussing a new shipment of something truly disgusting for use in one of their new Wizard Wheezes. He wondered if he actually had the guts to ask Dumbledore what he wanted to ask -- though it was easier in front of Tonks and Moody, and the twins. 

When he finally did get up the courage to open his mouth, he found that he was a bit light-headed.

"You know," he said slowly, to Dumbledore, while he picked at the eggs on his plate, "I'm glad Arthur and Molly arrange those dinner things like we had last night. Brings us together." He ignored a stifled snort from Tonks. "Like family," he added severely. 

"Aye, down to the feuds," Moody grunted.

"But I was thinking...you know, Harry really ought to have been there."

The twins fell silent, and even Tonks looked up from her bacon. Moody grinned widely.

"It's been four weeks, surely that's long enough," Remus pressed on desperately. "It's almost his birthday. I think we ought to bring him to Headquarters. He could get some tutoring, he'd have people his own age to be with..."

Dumbledore seemed to be mulling it over.

"It was just a thought," Remus mumbled. He was right, and he knew he was right, but he was also a student of Dumbledore's, once upon a time, and old habits died hard.

"Perhaps you're right," the older man said. "I see no reason for Harry to remain with his mother's family any more than absolutely necessary. Will you make the arrangements?"

"Of course," Remus said quickly, realising that the question was one Dumbledore had asked him often in the last few months. "I could go get him today, I've nothing planned. We don't really need a full-on rescue mission like last time, do we? I think a quiet, dignified exit should do us fine."

"Perhaps. Co-ordinate it with Arabella Figg, she'll know whether he's being watched by anyone. Other than us, of course," Dumbledore amended. 

"And we could have a proper party for him this year," Probably Fred added. "With a cake and all. Bet you he's never had one before."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed. "At any rate, the sooner the better, for Harry's sake. Yes...four weeks is time enough," he mused. Remus, whose heart had been in his throat, now relaxed, and nearly dropped his fork. 

"I'd like to see Harry again," Tonks said. "I'd come with you but I'm due in at work in -- blimey, forty minutes!" 

She started up from the chair, knocking it over, then managed to flip her remaining bacon onto the tablecloth when she put her hand down on the plate for balance. "Tell him hi for me!" she called over her shoulder, as she vanished into the hallway. Quite-Likely-George slid the rest of her meal onto his own plate.

"We could come too," he said. "There's loads of new tricks we could test out on that slug of a cousin of his -- "

"No Muggle-baiting," Moody said sternly. The twins looked ashamed. 

"Even the awful ones," Remus added. "How can you possibly represent the Order and still consider playing tricks on the boy?"

"He really is a git," one of them muttered.

"I'd be tempted myself," Dumbledore said. "But rest assured, I understand Dudley Dursley generally gets what's coming to him, sooner or later."

"Just wish it was us giving it to him. Gift-wrapped," one of the boys grinned. Remus hid his own smile, and finished his egg in good humour. 

***

There was no notice this time, not like there always had been before; no polite queries by Muggle post, no notes by owl, nothing to indicate that the wizarding world had even heard of Harry Potter -- and that was the way the Dursleys liked it. Dudley studiously avoided Harry, and Harry knew better than to pick fights this time round; Petunia and Vernon simply ignored him.

But Harry was marking the days, and more importantly simply marking time, until someone came for him; every day, he sat in the window of his room or in the hedges along the side of the house or behind the drapes in the living room and watched, and waited. And that was why he got there first, when the knock came. 

"Professor Lupin!" he blurted, as he threw open the door. 

Remus stood on the doorstep, a small half-smile on his tired face. He was trying his best to look perfectly at ease, as if it was normal for him to appear in Privet Drive in the middle of a July evening without warning.

"I think you might call me Remus, Harry, at this point," he said briskly. "Sorry to barge in."

"What's gone wrong?" Harry demanded. Remus gave him a gentle smile.

"Nothing, dear boy. Don't panic. Is your uncle at home?"

Harry was now thoroughly bewildered. "Um..."

"DON'T STAND THERE, BOY, SEE WHAT THEY WANT!" Uncle Vernon roared, from the other room. Harry turned pink.

"What a charming man," Remus sighed. Harry stood aside as Remus stepped through the doorway, into the living room where Uncle Vernon was reading the paper.

"YOU!" Vernon growled, tossing down his paper. "What do you want? How dare you come to our front door -- "

"Shut up, you horrible little man," Remus said calmly. Vernon sputtered. "Harry, run upstairs and pack, if you would? You're usually quite efficient, I doubt it will take long."

Harry, staring, took off like a shot. Remus heard the click of latches; from the sound of it, Harry had hardly bothered unpacking in the first place. Hedwig's angry hooting echoed down the stairs.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"Fetching Harry," Remus replied. "It's time he came to stay with us."

"You?"

"The Wizar -- "

Vernon interrupted him sharply. "You think you can just barge in here without warning and -- "

"Yes. I rather think I do." Remus touched the wand sticking out of his pocket, and Vernon Dursley turned pale.

"You -- come here and threaten me -- "

"Oh, do be quiet," Remus said, tiredly. "I've come to get Harry. Be glad I'm taking him off your hands and go back to your sad little life, Dursley."

"I won't be spoken to like that!"

"Well, I suppose I could try another tack." Remus stepped up until he was nose to nose with the enormous man as Harry descended the stairs, carrying Hedwig. "I am a close personal friend of Harry's godfather, and his current guardian. Therefore, you will release him to my custody or face police proceedings. How does that sound? I could call them right now. Police swarming over your nicely swept walkway, parking their cars in your drive..."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Remus were speeding away from Privet Drive in a rented car. Well, perhaps speeding was an inaccurate word; Remus understood the theory behind the stick shift, but was having trouble applying it in practical use.

"You were quick to pack," he said. He tried to shift, and gears ground together.

"I've been waiting," Harry answered. "Keeping an eye out, sort of thing."

Remus nodded his head, eyes on the road. It was a sad thing that the Boy Who Lived, beloved of the entire Wizarding world, had spent four weeks waiting for someone to come and rescue him from his family. 

"I hope it hasn't been too hard on you," he said. Harry's careless adolescent shrug told him all he needed to know. "You'll be staying at Headquarters, mostly, I think -- the twins are living there now, and I'll be around quite a bit, and I'm sure Ron and Hermione will come to visit. Going to try to find someone to take up your Occlumency lessons again -- yes, I know, Harry, but you know how important they are. I'll do my best to make sure it isn't Snape, but brace yourself that it might be. If I can talk him into doing it again."

Silence for a while. Finally, Harry took a deep breath. "Is it true what you said to Uncle Vernon? About being my guardian?"

Remus nodded. "I hadn't thought about it up until a few days ago -- " a lie, not until this morning, " -- but Sirius left a provision in his will...very old, you understand, written long before he went into Azkaban...saying that if he were to die while in custody of you, I was to get a certain amount of his savings and your legal custody. It'd be hard to argue in open court, since the money went to the Order, and I'm a werewolf -- and you're not exactly an ordinary boy..." he saw Harry smile, slightly, "but for our purposes with your uncle, it's quite acceptable."

He frowned and managed to shift gears almost flawlessly, concentrating hard.

"We used to have a joke about it," he said quietly. "Sirius used to say that if he and James and Lily all did die, I ought to keep a sharp eye out and make sure you weren't a youthful axe murderer." He paused. "Doesn't seem quite so funny anymore, really."

"But you're my godfather now?"

"You're a bit old to need much guidance that you couldn't get from the school, and I wouldn't be allowed to take you from the Dursleys permanently. But I do technically have responsibility for your welfare, access to your Gringotts account, things like that. If you're arrested I'm the one you're supposed to call to bail you out," he said, lips quirking upwards.

"Why did you come teach at Hogwarts, three years ago?" Harry asked. Remus frowned.

"I needed a job, and Dumbledore's very good at looking after his friends when they need it. You don't think Snape spent much time after Voldemort's fall trying to find somewhere to work, do you?" he said, with a grin. "And I like teaching, I'm good at Dark Arts..."

"But it wasn't because Sirius had escaped?"

"No, I got the position before that, but I was glad, afterwards. And I did think...I did rather want to see you, to see who you were, Harry," he said. "The last time I'd seen you, you weren't even walking yet. It was rather a shock to find you a thirteen-year-old boy." The car sputtered again as he tried to shift, and he murmured, "Sod it," under his breath. "All right Harry, grip tightly, I'm sick of this thing. Mobili mobilis!" he said, tapping the dashboard with his wand. There was a sudden bang, rather like the Knight Bus made, and when a bit of smoke cleared, Harry saw through the window that they were trundling down an alley. "We'll return the car and Apparate back."

"I can't Apparate," Harry said, peering out the window as Remus pulled into the car park.

"About time you learned, then."

Remus returned the keys to the rental agency and led Harry back out into the alley. "The key to Apparating," he said, "is concentration on where you're going and not where you are. I'm not going to have you Apparate on your own, I'm going to take you with me, so I need you to concentrate along with me or we'll both end up splinched. You need to think about the location of Headquarters, and when you've got that firmly in mind, think about the kitchen, all right? Standing in the kitchen facing the breakfast table."

Harry nodded, and Remus could see him concentrating.

"This is a bit...erm, personal," he added. "Stand still."

Harry was almost as tall as he was, now, and it was easiest to stand behind him and wrap one arm around his chest, the other around his waist. Harry had Hedwig's cage in one hand, the other resting on his upturned trunk. "Concentrate, Harry. And...now."

There was the familiar sense of brief nothingness, and a little confusion from Harry, but Remus was well-practiced at this. Soon he could see the kitchen, approaching, and they stumbled only a little when they appeared. He released Harry, catching his arm to keep him from colliding with the table.

"Brilliant!" Harry said, adjusting his glasses. Lord, he looked like James.

"Remus?" a voice called, and Molly's familiar face leaned through the doorway. "Ah! Hallo Harry, welcome back. Come on, in here, they're announcing the verdict."

Remus felt his hand grip Harry's shoulder tightly. The boy had no idea what was going on.

"There's been a hearing into the possibility that Sirius is innocent," he murmured, as they walked into the living room. "I'll explain it later."

Harry nodded and stepped inside, shy in front of the concerted gaze of a dozen people. There were quiet hellos while Mundungus Fletcher, kneeling on the hearthstone, listened in by floo. Remus felt Tonks appear at his side, heard her say a soft encouragement. Harry had found Ron and Hermione, who must have come in by floo themselves. Finally, Fletcher leaned back; after a second, Arthur Weasley stepped through. His eyebrows raised when he saw Harry standing with the others.

"What's the news, Arthur?" someone asked. 

Arthur smiled, tiredly. "Their decision is that Sirius Black was improperly imprisoned without trial, and that had this evidence come before an impartial jury, it is certain he would not have been convicted," he said. "They've also added a paragraph or two that sets a precedent for dealing with werewolf testimony under oath," he added, nodding at Remus.

Remus wasn't even aware his arm had gone around Tonks' waist until he realised he was holding her so hard he might bruise her. The others were cheering, and Harry looked heartbreakingly sad and confused. Remus just stood there, clinging to Tonks, staring at Arthur.

"What...what did it say?" he asked, almost plaintively, when the cheering had quieted. Everyone looked to Arthur. 

"I don't know all the legal-speak," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "But I understand it states that werewolves are held to the same standards as humans while under oath. They're considered fully equal to humans in terms of how much their testimony means, and are punishable same as humans if they're found untrustworthy," he added, glancing at his twin sons, who were setting off small humming fireworks in the air. 

"Full human rights?" Remus asked, not wanting to be mistaken. Arthur nodded. "But that means...that's huge, Arthur -- " he broke off suddenly. "That's what's going to get into the papers -- that's why they did it, isn't it? That's going to be the big story and Sirius Black being cleared is going to be an embarrassing footnote."

"What matters is he's cleared," Tonks reminded him.

"What matters is he's dead," Remus said, suddenly bitter. "Ruling's a bit expensive, if Sirius had to die for us to get it."

"Sometimes," said a low voice, and Remus saw Snape, standing between Molly and Kingsley, "A diversion still provides more value than a truth nobody will admit to."

"I'm tired," Remus said, running a hand over his face. "And I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

A murmur of "the Dursleys" went around the group.

"Harry, come on, I'll take you up to your room," he said, and Harry followed obediently, trailed by Ron and Hermione. 

What he, Remus Lupin, wanted most of all right now was some sleep. Or possibly a strong drink. 

No, what he really wanted was Padfoot alive again. 

He'd have to settle for that drink, because he sure as hell wasn't going to get to sleep without one.

***

 _There was a boy that all agreed_  
 _Had shut within him the rare seed_  
 _Of learning. We could understand,_  
 _But none of us could lift a hand._  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

By the time Remus came back from showing Harry his room -- with Ron and Hermione firmly encamped there as well, for the moment -- someone had thought to get take-away, and Molly was dishing out plates of chicken curry and rice to those who wanted to stay for dinner. Remus found the wine someone else had brought and poured himself a drink; he took a plate automatically and ate reflexively, like he normally did. 

The talk in the kitchen went on around them, most of it focused on the addition to the verdict on Sirius' innocence. After all, there was only so much to discuss about an innocent verdict -- only so much that could be said with the unspoken knowledge, hanging over everyone's heads, that if Sirius had been freed sixteen years ago, things would have been a lot different. That was something that hurt too much to say.

Normally Severus didn't stay for these things, but apparently he'd been lured into it this time around; he was furiously but quietly arguing some political point with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Mundungus was staying, of course, and Tonks was helping herself to a chunk of naan and some curry, forcing Ginny Weasley to scoot over and make room between her and Molly. 

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," Tonks said, as she sat down next to Molly. 

"Sorry?" Molly asked, confused. Tonks indicated Remus, who was chewing absently, watching Snape and Shacklebolt argue. 

"It's an old Muggle quote. I did a paper on their playwrights for my Muggle Studies class," Tonks continued. "Course, that particular king was a bloodthirsty tyrant, but I think the saying stands. Does he always eat like that?"

"Since I've known him."

"Someday he's going to do himself a mischief," Tonks observed.

"Ever seen him hit a chicken bone? Werewolf jaws," Molly answered. Tonks thought she heard a quiet "cool!" from Ginny. "I've seen him crunch one up without even realising it."

"Weird."

"No weirder than being able to change the shape of your nose on command," Molly replied, with a smile. "I like red hair on you."

Tonks looked mildly embarrassed. "I thought it might be nice for a while. Blends in, too, with your lads around -- "

There was a sudden silence in the room, and Tonks looked up. From the way Shacklebolt and Snape were staring, Remus must have broken into their political debate. 

"That's a bit of a...radical view to hold," Kingsley said slowly. Remus stabbed at the curry on his plate.

"That's why I don't hold it," he replied. "But it shuts people up when they talk about sterilization, doesn't it?" he added, with a glance at Snape, who was glowering. "I mean if you're going to go to the trouble of making sure werewolves can't reproduce -- if you're going to cut down on the population no matter what, you might as well go all the way and kill children who are born werewolves or bitten by them."

"There's a difference between -- " Snape began, but Remus' voice snapped out like a whiplash.

"No. There's not."

"You can't mean to say -- "

"I have as much right as any human to have children. There's only one in four odds a child I fathered would be a werewolf, which you'd know if you didn't think Muggle genetics was beneath you. And if my children are werewolves, who better than me to raise them?"

"You're talking about killing children!" Snape said.

"Severus!" Molly remonstrated, indicating Ginny with a tilt of her head. 

"And you're talking about killing hope," Remus continued. "Eat your food, Snape. You're not going to win this, not against me."

There was a somewhat profane growl from Snape, but he returned to his meal, and slowly the level of conversation went back up.

"Two years ago he never would have said that," Molly said softly. "Good for him."

"Two years ago, he had to keep it a secret." Tonks swallowed a mouthful of rice. "He likes children, doesn't he?"

"He's very good with them," Molly nodded. "He came to stay with us for a while right after...after Harry's parents were killed. Helped us get the twins through their terrible twos."

"Why didn't he ever have any of his own?" Tonks asked, as Ginny got up to get second helpings.

Molly's brows drew together. "Probably thought he oughtn't to have them if he couldn't provide for them. Poor man can barely feed himself, half the time. And you do rather have to have another person, as well," she added with a wink. Tonks smiled. 

"There must have been girls, though," she said. 

"Curious?"

"I suppose. It's not been a very easy life for him, has it?"

"He does all right. There was a woman, once -- I thought he'd certainly marry her. This was...oh, eight, nine years ago. From what I understand, he told her he was a werewolf, and that was the end of that."

"How awful," Tonks murmured.

Just then there was a clatter on the stairs, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione attacked the curry that was left in the kitchen with all the vigour of starving sixteen-year-olds. 

"You know, Harry," Molly said, across the room, and Harry's head snapped up, "Fred and George have been saying that you'll actually be at Headquarters for your birthday this year."

There was a murmur around the table as the rest of the Order realised this. 

"They were saying we ought to have a party," Molly continued. "Your first birthday in the Wizarding world."

"That'd be brilliant!" Ron said, glancing at Harry, whose eyes were glowing. "Wouldn't it, Harry?"

"That'd be better than brilliant," Harry answered. "A real party? With a cake?"

Tonks noticed that Remus was looking oddly at the boy, a mixture of sadness and pleasure on his face.

"I don't see why not. If we're defending the world against evil we ought to be able to come up with a birthday party on short notice," Molly replied. 

Harry's grin stretched from ear to ear. 

***

After dinner, most of the Order went on about their business -- Molly and Arthur took Ginny back to The Burrow, leaving Ron at headquarters; Hermione, who had somehow wrangled a floo hookup to her parents' house, went home as well. The rest of the Order slowly gave their excuses. Snape, still sullen after his comeuppance, vanished down the hallway, to the dim room that he sometimes slept in when he couldn't be bothered to go back to his quarters at Hogwarts. 

Tonks, who had agreed to help clear up after the dinner, finally found Kingsley and Remus deep in conversation in a corner of the living room, while Harry and Ron played wizard chess nearby. The distant explosions from the back of the house told her that Fred and George were hard at work on some new prank.

"Are you living here too?" Harry asked, looking up from his chess set. She grinned.

"Once in a while I stay over," she said, noticing the faint flush creeping across Remus' face. "I'm at work most of the time, though, and I've a flat near the Ministry. Might stay tonight."

"You're welcome to," Remus said softly. "You know Fred and George like to cook for everyone. There might be omelettes in the morning."

"I don't know that I'd trust an omelette made by them," Ron said thoughtfully. "Your move, Harry."

But Harry was looking at Remus, who returned his gaze evenly. Finally, he shook himself, and turned back to the board.

"Come conspire with us, Tonks," Kingsley said, gesturing her over, and she stepped around Harry and Ron to pull up a wing-chair near the edge of the couch, where Kingsley sat, and the battered leather-covered chair Remus was slouched in. 

"What are we conspiring over?" she asked, resting her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands. "New mission?"

"Not yet, but possibly soon," Remus replied. "We've ascertained that the Dark Lord's got his own headquarters -- he's not on the move, like we thought. It's heavily warded, and I doubt we'll find it, but I want to send some people out investigating."

"Snape get that news?" Tonks asked. Kingsley nodded. "Useful old bastard, isn't he?"

"One hopes," Kingsley replied, "that he is only being useful for us."

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "Dumbledore wouldn't like hearing that," he said quietly.

"That's why I'm saying it to you," Kingsley replied. 

"You don't think he's spying for You-Know-Who?" Tonks asked. "I mean he's not the most delightful person in the world, but -- "

"It's our job to think of these things, Tonks," Kingsley answered. "He hasn't exactly gone out of his way to earn anyone's trust. Hear what he said tonight."

"I think that's rather the point," Remus put in. "Would he have said that if he was trying to convince us he wasn't a spy? Listen, I know Severus Snape. He's never been shy about what he believes. If he'd gone back to the Death Eaters, we'd know. He wouldn't be here with us."

"Why isn't he?" Kingsley asked. "With them, I mean. He doesn't like Muggles much."

"But he knows it's wrong to torture and murder them."

"He also knows it's wrong to mark students down because he happens to dislike them, and that doesn't stop him."

"This is different," Remus insisted. "We'd know."

"He's clever," was all Kingsley would say. "I'm going to watch him. And I think you ought to, as well," he added. 

"I don't like it," Remus said. "We're supposed to trust each other. If Sirius had trusted -- "

He stopped, suddenly, and his eyes drifted to Harry, who'd just taken one of Ron's bishops. Tonks and Kingsley followed his gaze.

_If Sirius had trusted me, James and Lily might not have died._

"I...watch him if you must," Remus said finally. "By all means, I won't tell you not to. But I don't want this going beyond the three of us. And I'm not going to stop depending on him for Order business. All right?"

"Fair enough," Kingsley said. "But next time you send him out...send me along."

"If I can," Remus agreed. "I won't promise you."

Kingsley nodded. "I should be off," he announced, and stepped towards the fireplace, tossing some floo powder in with his usual sharp precision. After he vanished into the flames, Tonks turned to Remus, who was already standing.

"I've the paper to finish," he said thoughtfully. "And perhaps I ought to work on something about this new ruling on werewolves. Do you two need anything?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, a strange tone in his voice. 

"Got all I need," Ron added.

"Good," Remus replied. "You know where my room is, if you do."

Tonks watched him from her armchair as he left. The boys watched her.

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms. 

"Nothing," Ron said with a grin. "Harry, if you take my knight I'll have you in four moves."

"Don't tell him that!" one of the pieces shouted. 

***

Tonks had never known a man with such an irritatingly good work ethic. After seeing Ron and Harry safely in their room -- Ron had pulled a trundle bed into Harry's room to sleep on, or more likely to lie on while he and Harry talked all night -- Tonks climbed the stairs to find Remus asleep, slumped over his desk, head resting painfully on the edge of a thick, unopened book. 

She adjusted it slightly, ruffling his soft hair as she did so, and he grunted, opening his eyes.

"Meant to get a start on...some law journals..." he yawned. "Library's full of 'em."

"Come on," she answered, giving him a tug under his arms. He stood obediently, and one of his hands touched the book he'd been sleeping on. 

"D'you ever feel," he asked, eyes moving sleepily over the desk, "that time's always going to have the upper hand?"

"That's really more of a fact than a feeling, I'm afraid," Tonks said, as he stepped carefully around his chair and pushed it in. She noticed that he aligned the back of it with the desk neatly. "You ought to sleep."

He grinned at her and leaned in -- the first time he'd kissed her, instead of the other way around. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by a yawn.

"You'd better sleep," she repeated. 

"Sometimes I feel as if I could beat it," he said, one hand tangling in her coppery hair. 

"Beat what?"

"Time. I feel like if I just knew the right way to go about life, I'd always be a step ahead, instead of two behind," he murmured. "I'm being foolish," he added. "You're right, I should go to bed."

She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, and she watched as he stumbled, half-awake, into the other room. She'd hoped...

Well. After they day they'd had, she could use the sleep too.

***

Harry's room was closest to the twins', and they got there first when he started screaming. 

Ron was trying to hold him down. Fred and George, well-muscled from years of Beating, managed to get his arms and legs flat, though it meant George had to straddle his knees. When Remus reached them, barefoot and half-naked, he pulled Ron aside and put his hands on either side of Harry's face.

"Wake up, Harry!" he shouted.

"It won't do any good!" Fred cried, over the screams. 

"Ron, get some cold water," Remus ordered, and Ron, pale under his freckles, hastened to obey. He nearly ran into Tonks, in her dressing-gown, who was trailed by an irritated-looking Severus Snape, hair tangled, in a green flannel nightshirt. 

"Can a man not be allowed at least a little -- " He stopped, when he saw Harry on the bed. "Merlin," he breathed, coming forward. "Out of my way, Lupin."

Remus had enough sense not to argue the point. Snape ran a hurried hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes, before reaching down to press his thumbs to Harry's forehead. George relaxed as Harry stopped thrashing, and the screams ceased abruptly. 

"Wake up, Potter," Snape ordered. "Come on, boy, don't be difficult."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he screamed again, once, when he saw Snape bending over him. 

"That's right," Snape said, in a self-satisfied tone. He leaned back, and removed his hands from Harry's face. 

Ron arrived, sloshing cold water, and Remus took it, offering Harry a drink as the boy sat up. Snape's nose wrinkled when Harry sipped straight from the pitcher. George, warily, crawled off of his knees and slid to the ground. 

"What happened?" Fred asked, rubbing the back of his head. Ron sat on the edge of the bed, hands twisting together in his lap.

Harry looked suddenly embarrassed to be the centre of attention. "Bad dream," he said softly.

"The Dark Lord got in," Snape said bluntly. Harry nodded. "How often?"

"This is the first time -- no, really..." Harry said, when Remus looked unbelieving. "Not all summer, I swear."

"We believe you, Harry," Tonks said comfortingly.

"Speak for yourself," Snape replied. "If I'm no longer needed here -- "

Remus caught him by the collar of his nightshirt as he turned to go.

"In the morning, you will resume lessons with Harry," he said, aware that he had not thanked Snape for the work he'd just done, and not caring. "This is not a request. This is an order."

Snape pulled himself out of Remus' grip, and glared at him. "Since when am I required to -- "

"Since now!" Remus shouted. "Or do you want to be responsible for the next time he wakes up screaming? We all know you hate the boy, but by god you will not stand by while a child has his brain pried into by a dark wizard. I will not let you, you selfish, arrogant son of a bitch."

Everyone, Remus realised, was staring at him now. Well, he thought, at least Harry's off the hook.

"Nine a.m.," Snape said, pointing to Harry. "You will present yourself in the library, prepared to work. You will not drag your friends along with you," he added, over his shoulder as he turned to go. 

Remus let out an exhalation of breath as he left the room. 

"I am so glad," Fred said slowly, "that I was here when someone finally let Snape have it."

"You're going to pay for what I just did, Harry, I'm sorry," Remus said, without looking at him. 

"It's all right," Harry whispered. 

"That was brilliant, Remus," Tonks said. He almost protested when she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, but it was too late at night and too much had gone on for him to care. When she let him go, Fred and George were grinning as they passed a handful of sickles to Ron.

"What's that all about?" Remus asked. Ron turned pink.

"He bet us you two were shagging," Fred said.

"Fred!" Tonks looked shocked.

"Well, it's boring around here when nobody's about, we have to make our own -- "

"That'll be enough, I think, for one night," Remus said firmly.

"But you are shag -- "

"Enough, George," he repeated. "Can't you find someone else's personal life to pry into?"

"Worl, yeah, but yours is more interesting."

Tonks covered a grin with one hand. "Good for you, Ron."

Remus glanced at Harry, who was almost forgotten, sitting up in the bed, knees drawn up to his chest. He'd pulled his glasses on and was staring at his hands intently.

"You're not going to sleep again, are you?" he asked. Harry shook his head. The clock on the wall read just past four; they'd at least had most of a good night's sleep. "Come on then, let's go downstairs. We can have an early breakfast."

***

Ron, glad to be doing something instead of just standing by, helped make pancae batter while Harry sat at the kitchen table and watched, and the twins ran the griddle. Remus left them to it, fixing tea. Tonks sat with Harry, moving over slightly so that Remus could join her when he brought over the teapot and mugs on a tray.

It was reassuring, feeling her shoulder against his arm, her leg against his. It meant there was at least one other grown-up in the house. The twins were not exactly models of maturity and Severus Snape was still stuck somewhere back in seventh year, but Tonks was capable and thoughtful, and if he stepped wrong she'd probably notice.

"He wanted to scare us," Harry said, eyes following Ron and the twins. "He knows I'm here. Not _here_...he doesn't know where I am..."

"But he knows you're with us," Remus said.

"I think so. And he wants to scare you."

"Doing a good job of it," said Tonks, scowling. 

"This can't go on," Remus agreed. "Occlumency will only take us so far, and it's not something that comes easily. I don't know how else to stop it." Remus knew frustration was creeping into his voice, and he stifled it for Harry's sake. "We've got to force the moment, sooner or later. We've got to find him and fight him and we've got to kill him. This has gone on for twenty years. That's long enough."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. They both looked at him.

"Sorry that a dark wizard a thousand times more powerful than you is breaking and entering in your brain?" Tonks asked. 

"Sorry I can't keep him out."

Remus didn't know what to say. Nothing in his life had quite trained him to deal with a frightened, nearly-sixteen-year-old boy whose life was in a shambles because a dark wizard would not get out of his head. So he ruffled Harry's hair, and smiled.

"Yes, we all blame you, Harry," he drawled. Harry gave him a small smile. "I don't think you've any inkling how much you look like James, do you?" Remus asked, surprising himself.

"A little," Harry admitted.

"Pancakes!" Fred announced, carrying a large plateful to the table. Ron followed with butter and syrup, and they were, for a while, distracted by how to divide up the pancakes, and who wanted the syrup, and whether there was any jam. 

This was how it ought to be. Sitting at a table with a beautiful woman next to him and his boys flicking syrup at each other, laughing and joking in the big warm kitchen. This was the family he'd wanted, ached for. It didn't matter that the Weasley boys weren't his own sons, that Harry was the spit and image of his dead father. It didn't matter that Tonks didn't really belong to him, that what they did was as much a catharsis as it was anything else. It didn't matter that it was four in the morning, and they were awake because Voldemort wanted to frighten them.

This was how it ought to be.

"You're smiling," Tonks said, passing him another pancake. He risked kissing her, and was rewarded with hoots from the twins, and the taste of maple syrup on her lips.

"People do that when they're happy," he answered.


	3. Chapter 3

We cannot know how much we learn   
From those who never will return,   
Until a flash of unforeseen   
Remembrance falls on what has been.   
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

In the time between breakfast and Harry's appointment with Snape, they talked shop; the twins bounced new sales ideas off of them, which were generally met with "brilliant!" from Ron and Harry, while Remus tried his best to look disapproving. He did like the idea of sets of enchanted Quidditch equipment for practices -- Snitches that specialised in getting your attention and then evading you, Bludgers that were lighter and could be batted away with one's hands -- and he said so.

"Got to make sure people don't swap them for the real thing on the playing field, though," he cautioned. 

"Did you play Quidditch?" Fred asked. Remus shook his head.

"That was James' hobby. Sirius too, for a bit, till he got thrown off the team."

"What for?" Ron looked interested. Remus coughed.

"Indecent activity in the locker room," he muttered. The boys burst into rude laughter. 

"Not really?" Tonks asked, grinning.

"Quidditch always had that effect on him," Remus added. He noticed Harry staring at his breakfast, cheeks barely flushed. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to -- "

"It's all right," he said, pushing food around with his fork. "I'd better go get ready for my lesson."

"Harry -- "

But the boy was already gone. Fred and George exchanged a look.

"Time we were off to the shop," Fred announced. Tonks nodded. 

"I've got work..." she added, rising. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Teenagers tend to be a bit moody."

"Thank you," Ron said pointedly.

"Proving me right," Tonks added, tousling his hair. Ron ducked away, fingers trying to straighten it out. "I've got to stop off at my flat after work -- unless something comes up that keeps me from home entirely," she said with a grimace. "I thought I'd drop by Diagon Alley, too, and pick up something for Harry's birthday. So I may not be by till late tonight." 

"Erm..." Remus cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's...an early night for me."

All four of them looked at him, curiously.

"Full moon," he muttered.

"Do you want me to get anything from Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked. "Is there anything -- "

She was cut off by Snape's abrupt appearance in the doorway. He tossed what looked liked a wide-based wine-bottle past her, and Remus snatched it out of the air before it could shatter on the table.

"That's four months' worth of wolfsbane potion," Snape said, offhandedly, as if he hadn't nearly destroyed the thing. "Six if you're frugal. I don't want you coming to me again until at least after Halloween."

"Thank you, Severus," Remus said, civilly, though he longed to continue their shouting match from earlier in the morning.

"Have some breakfast, Professor Snape?" Fred asked brightly. George nodded and offered a plate.

"I would not touch your breakfast, Weasley, with dragonhide gloves," Snape replied, stalking away. The twins looked despondent.

"We're never going to find anyone to test the new doughnuts on," George sighed. "You don't want to be guinea pig, do you, Lupin? Ring for hours with a Ding Dong Doughnut!"

"Can't you give out free samples at the shop?" Remus asked, as Tonks snickered and deposited her plate in the sink. 

"Suppose we could. Get awfully loud in the shop, though. Still, chaos is never a bad thing."

"Speak for yourselves," Tonks replied. "All right, I'm going to dress and I'll leave by the floo in my bedroom -- Weasleys, I'll see you later today. Don't let him get into any mischief," she added, with a grin for Remus, who grinned back.

"Harry and I're going to Diagon Alley this afternoon too," Ron announced. "He hasn't seen the new joke shop yet."

"You mean I might have the place to myself for an afternoon?" Remus asked. "Heavens above. I might even get some work done."

***

He certainly didn't get any work done that morning.

His rooms were above the library, and it was barely ten minutes before he knew he couldn't stay there; he could hear Snape's harsh tones through the floor, hear Harry's occasional cry of pain, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it. But he couldn't listen to that, listen to James' son being undeservedly tormented, even if he saw -- though Harry might not -- that every hateful lesson with Severus Snape brought him that much closer to power. 

Harry didn't want power. But he did need it. 

He found himself moving through the sprawling Black mansion like a ghost, trying to get as far away from the library as possible. After...after Sirius had died, they'd taken the last steps necessary and gotten rid of the grotesque house-elf heads. They'd also destroyed the portrait of the old Black matriarch, who seemed less tenacious about clinging to the wall now that the last of the Blacks was dead. The upper floors were eerily spartan, devoid of any decoration, scrubbed bare by Molly's army of press-ganged housecleaners. Down below, somewhere, he suspected Ron was trying just as hard as he was not to think about Harry in the library. He ought to find the boy, try and talk with him. He was Harry's best friend, after all.

Remus, folding himself into a narrow window-seat, stared out at the other houses nearby, full of people who'd no idea that this house even existed anymore. 

He knew what it was like to be a shadow, to be just a half-step behind the popular boy, the boy everyone knew. Ron dealt with that in his own way, he was sure. Ron must be used to it; with five older brothers, indeed he must. 

But at the same time, Ron had five older brothers. He had an entire family. Watching over him, teaching him things, taking care of him. In the Lupin household it had been Remus and his parents and that was all -- 

This was stupid, Remus decided. Self-pity was for people who'd nothing better to do. 

He pushed himself out of the window-seat. It had been better when it was just him and Sirius living here. He liked the twins, but they were always poking about, trying to get him to help them come up with new mischief -- their admiration for one of the authors of the Marauder's Map knew no bounds. And he loved Harry, loved him deeply, but that boy was screwed up every which way, and being tortured by Severus Snape didn't help him any. 

Life was simpler alone. You didn't have to wonder how to comfort a boy or worry whether you'd hurt someone with something you didn't even mean to say in the first place, or be afraid that one day you were going to reach for her and she wasn't going to be there -- 

He'd gone down the stairs quietly, but by the time he'd reached the bottom floor Ron was standing there, one hand on the banister, expectant.

"Can't you teach him?" Ron blurted, without even a greeting. "It's awful, hearing Snape yell at him."

"I'm no good at it," Remus replied, brushing past him. "Perhaps you'd best go to Diagon Alley. I can send Harry -- "

"Yeah, leave so that nobody at all's here when he's finally done," Ron said rebelliously. "Great idea."

"Well, Ron, find something to do then!" Remus snapped. The boy looked stricken, and he felt an immediate stab of regret.

"Or help me find something to do, so I'm not shouting at people who don't deserve it," he said, apologetically. Ron gave him a weak grin. "You must have something you're supposed to be doing."

"Did the dishes," Ron said sheepishly. "And made a sandwich. And dusted."

"You dusted?" Remus asked. "Do you even know how to dust?"

"After my mum?" Ron replied.

"Good point. What about homework, don't you have assignments over the summer?"

Ron scowled. "Haven't got my books."

"Nice try," Remus replied. "You can help me do mine, then."

He led Ron back through the house, to his room, and handed the boy an armload of books. Ron made a face and sneezed, but followed obediently enough as they sought the comfort of the living room.

"Is this what you do all the time we're not around?" he asked, as Remus instructed him on what to look for. The older man shrugged.

"Order business. And this. I do have to feed myself somehow," he said, handing Ron a sheet of parchment. "I write articles, papers, that sort of thing. It's very hard to get fired for continual absences when you never see your publisher face-to-face anyway."

Ron smiled and bent to his book, and Remus was more than happy to let a concentrated silence descend on the room.

***

It was late by the time Tonks let herself into Headquarters; she hadn't intended to come back at all, but to go home to her flat after a hasty dinner in Diagon Alley. She'd managed to find something she thought Harry would like for his birthday, while still keeping an eye on him and Ron -- with a little help from the twins, who had promised to send Ron back to the Burrow and bring Harry home after closing up shop. 

She walked up the stairs quietly and listened at Remus' door. No noise; she hoped he was asleep. She'd found time at work to do a little research on wolfsbane potions. What she'd found hadn't been pretty. She'd studied werewolves in school and Auror training, of course, but only as targets. To find out about the terrible pain of the transformation and the self-destructiveness of penned wolves...Well. It made her understand him much better, the quiet man with whom she'd been sharing a bed. 

There was a soft whine from the other side of the door, and then a scratch on the wood. She hurried on quickly, before her compassionate instincts got the better of her and she opened the door. 

She headed for the small book-lined den on the third floor, which at night afforded the best view of the stars through its skylight. She felt like sinking into one of the chairs and curling up alone in the dark room. 

It was already occupied, however. 

Severus Snape sat in one of the rich, freshly-cleaned armchairs, a book in his hands, reading idly. 

"I'm sorry," she said, when he looked up sharply. "I didn't mean to intrude -- "

He waved a thin-fingered hand, indicating that it was no concern of his. The man could make her feel like a third-year with just a gesture. She hated that. 

So, to spite him, she sat, and picked up a nearby book. It looked like one of the ones Remus had recently been using; not the most interesting subject matter, but then she really just wanted something to do with her hands while she looked out and up, at the moon and stars. 

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Snape, delicately turning a page, said without preamble, "May I ask you a question?"

She glanced at him, but he appeared to be engrossed in his reading.

She wanted to say that if he had to ask about it, it probably was something she wasn't going to want to answer; instead, she merely said "Yes", and made an effort to leave off the "sir".

"You are quite young," he said. "And I understand that in the Order there is a certain...hierarchy." 

Tonks had a nasty feeling that she knew where this was going.

"And I don't wish to presume that you are overstepping any boundaries, but..." Snape looked up at her, then. "Are you sure your...friendship with Lupin is entirely appropriate?"

Tonks could do nothing but stare.

"Not to mention, good for the Order? And your own mental health?" Snape continued blandly.

"My...mental...health..." Tonks repeated, lost in a sea of offended indignation. 

"I merely ask out of concern for Order stability," Snape replied, returning to his book.

"How...did you -- "

"Harry's lessons this morning."

"And you...have the gall..." Tonks stammered. "You have the absolute and unutterable -- I can't even think of the word for what you think you're doing -- "

"I am ensuring the safety of the Order and its stability. We all know Lupin's practically Dumbledore's lapdog. I have not done all this work to watch it crumble because of an ill-timed misstep on the part of a young woman who can hardly be expected to -- "

He was cut off by a loud crack, and Tonks stared in horror.

She'd slapped him. Actually slapped Severus Snape. Her professor. A man whose biting sarcasm had made her cringe in horror for seven years. 

He stared up at her, dark eyes bright in his sallow-skinned face. 

"I'm so sorry -- " she said, stepping forward. She stumbled of course, over the table next to the chair, and nearly fell over. Several books went flying. "I didn't mean -- I'm so sorry," and then, to her horror, she said "Professor."

He stood swiftly, catching the table in one hand, closing his book with the other. The skin on his cheek was already turning red. 

He stared at her for a moment, incredibly tall and imposing and proud, while she was hunched over the table, trying to keep her balance. 

Then, with a crack, he Disapparated. Tonks, bereft of his supporting hand on the table, sprawled to the floor, and burst into undignified, undisciplined, un-Tonks-like tears.

"Tonks?"

She put a hand to her eyes, pushing herself up off the floor. Of course Harry would show up now; that was the story of her life.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked hesitantly. She sniffed, mightily, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm fine, Harry," she said. "Took a bad spill, that's all."

"I thought I heard Professor Snape."

"Yes, you did," she admitted. "He's gone now, though."

"He's just a slimy git," Harry said, obviously feeling that her tears had been directly inspired by the Potions master. "You can't listen to anything he says."

"I know," Tonks said, dropping into one of the chairs again. "But it's hard not to when he's telling the truth."

"Sorry about that," Harry said, leaning on a bookshelf. "He was in my head this morning. He saw...things."

"He said as much."

"Bastard," Harry said with feeling. Tonks laughed through the last of her tears. "He hasn't any right to say anything."

"He hasn't the right, but he has a good point."

"Well, I think it's brilliant," Harry said stoutly. "He's just jealous, that's all."

"Of...of Remus?" Tonks asked, disbelieving.

"Well, you're..." Harry turned bright red. "I mean, who wouldn't want to..."

Tonks laughed again. "You don't have to finish that sentence, Harry, it's all right. Thank you."

Harry nodded, and crossed his arms. "Ron left his wizard chess set here, if you want to play. They heckle," he warned. 

Tonks smiled. "Keep us busy for a while, anyhow," she said softly. "Sure you're up to it? Long day for you."

Harry brushed it off. His gesture was a perfect mimicry of one Remus sometimes made. "I'm used to long days," he said. Tonks thought for a moment she might cry again. 

***

The door locks, the last time Remus had closed them, had made an audible click as they slid into their slots; it was reasonable to assume, Tonks had decided (around the second game of Wizard chess, and before sending Harry off to bed) that they would click again, unlocking.

So she pulled her counterpane off of the bed in the room she kept at Headquarters, wrapped herself up in it, and managed to doze off -- Aurors learned quickly how to sleep in uncomfortable situations -- on the second-floor landing, near his door. 

She was right; around four in the morning, she was pulled out of a half-dream by a sharp click, followed by another one inside.

She stood and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, hand resting on the doorknob. After a second, she turned it softly and opened it.

Then she drew in a quick, sharp breath, and dropped the blanket.

Remus Lupin lay on the floor, shivering, naked, sweating; his hair hung in his eyes, and his knees were drawn up to his chest, the muscles across his ribcage twitching convulsively. 

Without thinking, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake; after a moment, his muscles slacked and eased and he gasped for air, turning eyes on her that weren't fully human. She steadied herself, staring as the last amber flicker faded from his pupils. Ordinary brown eyes looked up at her in disbelief.

"You catch me...'n the wors' 'sitions," he said, his words slurring. 

"Yes, well, that's why they pay me the big money," she replied lightly. He uncurled a little, and she released him so that he could pull a tattered, much-mended blanket off the couch and cover himself. She reached for her own blanket, but he was already standing unsteadily, stumbling towards his bed in the other room.

"What're you doin' her'?" he asked, his words still running together. "How'd you get 'n?"

"Your door unlocked itself," she replied, grabbing his elbow as he stumbled. "Is this normal?"

"Normal 's I get," he managed, sliding between crisp white sheets, pulling the blanket with him. "Staying?" he asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," he said, simply, and curled up again, turning his back to her. She stroked his hair. "Or no. S'hard to think."

"Are you tired?"

"I hurt."

She wondered if, at any other moment in his life, he'd admit it so plainly.

"Then I'll stay," she said, moving in next to him. 

"Can't promise much," he said, his words a little more clear. 

"I didn't ask for any promises."

"Oh."

She smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. His breathing was shallow but even; his fingers traced the lines of her hand, and she could feel him tense occasionally -- as if the physical pain of transition came and went. 

"How are you?" she asked, after it seemed the last, worst shudder had passed. 

"All right, now," he muttered. "Feel a bit stupid, though. S'normal. Potion does it. What time?"

"About four-thirty."

"Stay up all night?"

"I slept a little."

His hand was still touching hers, exploring the shape of the muscles, the ridges of her knuckles. "Should call you some name," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Barging in. I'm not proud of this. Should shout at you," he said, and Tonks realised that walking in on him, naked and still recovering from his change, had been an enormous -- an unforgivable breach of manners. 

She began to pull away, but his hand pinned hers in place. 

"I don't let anyone see," he whispered hoarsely. 

"I'm sorry -- "

"Don't be," he replied. She wished she could see his face; she pushed herself up on one elbow and leaned forward. 

His eyes were closed, and there was a strange half-smile on his face. He opened them when she blocked out the first hints of grey sunlight beginning to stream in through the window. 

Just plain, the same brown his eyes always were. She wondered if she'd imagined the yellow that had faded from them even as he'd lain on the floor, convulsing. 

"I ought to care so much more," he said, his voice rough. "That you see these things."

"I don't think any less of you," she answered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He moved his head, at the last minute, and pulled her down so that her lips met his. 

"Why don't you?" he asked. "Why aren't you scared?"

"Because I know," she replied. 

"Meta-m-orphm-m-agus," he said, stuttering a little.

"You spend full moons locked away from the world," she whispered. "And I haven't any idea what my real face ought to look like. We both hide. Neither of us got to choose."

"So we understand each other," he said.

"I think so."

"How'd you like," he asked, mischief sparking in his eyes, "to work on that hobby?"

She laughed. "Half an hour ago you -- "

"Looked up and saw you," he finished for her. "Why did you?"

Tonks kissed him again. "You are going to hate me," she said.

"I very much doubt it."

"I wanted to see you."

"Because...?"

She sighed. "Because I slapped Severus Snape."

He looked up at her. "I'm still feeling just slightly stupid, Tonks, but I'm fairly sure -- "

"He said the most awful things," she said. "He found out about us from Harry in lessons this morning, and he said you were bad for my mental health and we'd wreck the Order and he called you Dumbledore's lapdog and he said I couldn't be expected to..." she trailed off. "Well, I don't know what he thought he couldn't expect me to do, because that's when I slapped him. Control myself, maybe."

Remus let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. When he spoke, Tonks could just barely see his pulse, beating in his throat.

"If Severus Snape would, for just ten minutes together, stop being an absolute ass, I'd have a lot more sympathy for him," he said. "If you could buy tact, I would have sent him a big bouquet of it a long time ago."

Tonks grinned. "I'd like to order some tact, and could you wrap it up in a box of human decency?"

"Exactly." Remus sighed. "He's right though. I'm probably not that good for your mental health. And this is exactly the sort of thing that could cause problems in the Order."

"It's just a hobby," Tonks said. He laughed.

"Sure, our hobby. Man's got to have a hobby," he said. "Speaking of which..."

She wondered, briefly, how exactly they'd gotten themselves into this; but only briefly, because there was something about being here, with him, that made the world fade away.

***

It was only natural, he thought. Of course it was. 

When he was at school, he'd gone nearly mad during the three days a month he was trapped in the Shrieking Shack; he'd work compulsively on his schoolwork during the day, or sleep as much as possible, anything not to be thinking about why he was living in a run-down haunted house on the edge of Hogsmeade. 

After James and Sirius and Peter managed their first transformations it was better, but he was still trapped, and after he came back there was always that nervous energy. He wanted distraction. He wanted activity. And when he was...alone again, out on his own, the old compulsions had come back.

There had been a sort of slow animal rage in him when he'd smelled her, his senses still obscenely focused after his transformation. He'd done his best to stifle it; he'd gotten away from her and into the bed, and then when she'd followed, he'd given in and simply ignored her, until he felt like he could think clearly again. 

He should have been angry with her, should have made her leave, but it was so easy to let her touch him, to listen to her deep, even breathing. And he knew that there was too much animal in him this close after the change, and animals were concerned with territory, food, and sex...

And he wasn't hungry. Or particularly worried about hunting grounds.

"For a man who didn't have fingers an hour ago," Tonks said, as he worked his way down to her collarbone, hands unbuttoning the simple nightshirt she was wearing, "you're pretty handy..."

"I'm well-motivated," he replied, nuzzling one bare breast. She gasped and arched her back against him, and the fabric of her clothing felt delightful on his skin. 

"You're still new," he said, aware that he wasn't making much sense. "So much for me to learn..."

"Quick study," Tonks moaned, fingers twining in his hair. He tilted his head, guiding her to the soft fine pelt spreading across his shoulders. 

"Help me," he said, stupidly, struggling to pull her nightshirt off. She obediently shifted, lifting her hips, then her back, to slide the rest of it over her head. The roll of her body very nearly made him forget his own name. 

And then they were moving, and the way she arched her back was the least of the sensations rushing through him; her sleek skin, her eyes, the curls in her hair, and more -- her voice, the turn of her head, the things she said so quietly that he barely heard them. Memories of the way she spoke, head slightly inclined, hair falling across her face. She was dangerous when she let that happen, because all he wanted to do was slide an arm around her waist and not care who saw him do it. 

She cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he felt her body tense, surprised at the swiftness of it; a second later he understood the sensation all too well, as his own pleasure nearly pulled him under, into unconsciousness.

"See...that's how you should breathe," she said, after a few minutes. He was aware he'd been taking in deep lungfuls of air, but otherwise he was going to do himself a harm. 

"So noted," he replied, rolling and pulling her with him, until she ended up cradled on his chest. He liked her there; liked the weight of her, the feeling that somehow, when they were like this, he was responsible for someone other than himself. She let one hand drift along his arms, thoughtfully.

"Two more nights of that?" she asked, softly. "How do you survive?"

"You pretend it's all right," he answered. "And after a while -- "

" -- you get really good at pretending. I remember," she replied.

"You should sleep. You've got work," he mumbled.

"Can I sleep here?"

"Mmh," he replied, closing his eyes. "You think you could?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think so."

***

Harry's birthday was the Saturday after the last full-moon evening, and Molly had organised most of it, as she tended to do; Remus had wanted a hand in it, but in the daytime he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at night... 

He had a lot of time to think, though, especially since Tonks was called away by Kingsley -- some extended mission for the Ministry, which didn't bring her back until the day of Harry's party. He hadn't realised how accustomed he could be to sharing a bed, until she suddenly vanished for three days. 

He read, and wrote some at his desk when he felt up to it, and there were orders to give -- Snape had a mission, discussed in tense and not overly friendly terms. The twins, now full members, had daily gossip reports from Diagon Alley for him to read through, process, and make decisions about. There were editorials to be read about the Werewolf Statement, as the papers had taken to calling it. Letters to write. All done from his desk or his bed, all important, and all exhausting. 

Still, he found time to worry. Remus Lupin always had time to worry. 

In this case, a minor, almost a childish worry, but nevertheless an important one. Harry was here, and it was almost his birthday. Sixteen was a terribly important birthday for a boy. The next best thing he had in the world to a father was going to be there, for Harry's first real party ever, and couldn't afford to buy him much more than a card. Last Christmas he'd had to borrow money from Sirius to chip in for the books they'd bought the boy...

So he worried, quite creatively, and quite skillfully. He could worry with real purpose, Remus could. He'd honed it to an art form. And usually, he found, it caused him to think of a solution, sooner or later. It had also probably caused most of his premature grey, but one of the few things he did not worry about was his appearance. 

Just before the third full-moon night, he sent off two owls; one to Hogwarts, and one to an acquaintance of his in Hogsmeade, who was known to have a certain affinity for -- and more importantly, skill with -- Muggle mechanical things. 

He slept well, the last night before Harry's party, which was a relief. Harry himself had been about, but he'd been quiet, and spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione, or being carefully watched over by the twins in their joke shop in Diagon Alley. Molly bustled around, seemingly having done everything two minutes before Remus thought to do it. He found himself, quite uselessly, waiting for the owl post; when it came, just before the party, he breathed a sigh of relief and placed the object from the letter carefully in the card he'd bought. 

Molly obviously wanted this to be perfect. So, apparently, did the rest of the Order, as they began to arrive. Mad-Eye hardly roared at all. Dumbledore allowed himself to be given the task of hanging streamers. Several others helped Molly prepare enough food to feed an army and set up mismatched tables and chairs in the grand, empty old ballroom in one wing of the Black mansion, under Ginny's officious direction. 

Just past two in the afternoon, Harry returned from the joke shop with the twins, who'd closed up early, and Hermione and Ron, who'd been helping him pick out the ten sickles' worth of tricks the twins had promised him. On their heels came Kingsley and Tonks, both of whom looked as though they could use a thorough washing. None of the Order asked, but nobody complained when they vanished, Kingsley to his first-floor room for spare clothes and Tonks to the upstairs washroom, tripping on the stairs.

By the time they were presentable, Harry had been enthroned in a massive wing-chair in the ballroom and surrounded by piles of presents, confronted with an enormous cake that was already being distributed among the Order. He glanced up at Molly and Arthur, who were standing near the doorway and grinning, arms around each other's waists.

"I thought it was just going to be a cake," Harry said, eyes wide. "And some candles."

"Happy birthday," Molly answered.

"We won't sing," Arthur promised.

"Open yer presents, then," Mad-Eye growled, fork hovering threateningly over his slice of cake. "Like as not one of 'em's going to explode."

Fred and George, looking slightly guilty, edged a gaily-wrapped pink box away from the others.

Remus, who was standing rather shyly nearby, felt Tonks' hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward to watch Harry open his presents. He wished more than anything that this was how all of Harry's birthdays had been; that James and Sirius and Lily were standing just out of his vision, watching the boy unwrap his gifts.

There was a packet of fireworks from Mundungus Fletcher, and a properly pointy wizarding hat -- blue, with spangles -- from Arabella Figg and Moody, who said he'd charmed it to scream if anyone else put it on. Harry tossed it to Ron, who pulled it over his ears and grinned as it shrieked "NOT HARRY!" until he removed it.

A book from Hermione, of course, a collection of short stories from the Wizarding World; another by post from Minerva McGonagall, on the specific charms used in flying broomstick manufacture. From Dumbledore, a pair of thick, brand new woolly socks. Harry grinned at the Headmaster -- apparently this was some joke between the two of them -- and opened Dobby's present-by-proxy, an oversized oven mitt obviously meant to be worn as a hat. 

"Dobby," Harry sighed with a grin -- but he laid it next to the other gifts just as reverently, Remus noted. 

"Looks as though that's it, Harry," Arthur said, rifling through the paper littering the table. "Pretty good, eh?"

"Better than good," Harry answered. 

"One more thing, Harry," Remus said, drawing a small envelope out of his inside pocket. He passed it to Harry, who looked at it quizzically. "Sorry it's not wrapped very well," he added.

Harry slit the envelope open and pulled out the cheap birthday card. When he opened it, a small silver key glinted up at him; he pulled it away from the card and examined it curiously.

"A little abstract, I'll admit," Remus said. Most of the Order was looking at him with the same curious suspicion that was clear on Harry's face. "But the rest of it's in the back garden."

He followed close behind Harry as the boy walked down the corridor, the key clutched in one hand. Ron and Hermione were on either side, and it was Ron who actually saw first, through the back-door window. 

"Hagrid!" he shouted, and the three of them dashed through the door. Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered out onto the small back stoop, while Harry raced down the steps to give Hagrid a welcoming hug. 

"Brought yer somethin' fer yer birthday," Hagrid rumbled, and one of his giant hands indicated a large, sheet-covered object. The other reached over and jerked the sheet off.

"REMUS LUPIN!" Molly shrieked in outrage. "YOU DID NOT GIVE A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY A FLYING MOTORBIKE!"

Remus just smiled.

Molly pushed her way to the front, but Ron and Harry were already inspecting the motorbike, Hermione leaning over the handlebars to tap on the dials, Ginny pre-emptively begging for a ride. Arthur Weasley was also there, murmuring over the "infernal contusion engine" and the chrome finishes.

"I only ever saw it once," he said excitedly to Harry. "Oh, but it's wonderful, isn't it? Where'd you find it, Lupin?" he called.

"You cannot give a sixth-year student a motorbike!" Molly insisted.

"Hagrid's had it in his attic," Remus replied. "It's really from him as much as me, Harry. He got it fixed up, replaced the bits that had been chewed on by mice."

"Idear was yers, though," Hagrid rumbled. "Can't take credit fer that."

Harry, who had straddled the bike seat and was inspecting the ignition, looked up and beamed. 

"Arthur, stop encouraging him!" Molly shouted.

"It's all right, Molly. It's enchanted not to fly above a certain speed," Remus said. "He'll do fine with it, won't you, Harry?" he asked.

"How's it work?" Harry called in reply, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.

"You've got to kick-start it," Remus called. "Hagrid, show him how." 

Hagrid bent over the bike, helping Harry position his foot, and then there was a belch of exhaust, a roaring noise. Arthur was looking on rapturously, pointing out the various components of the engine. Ron picked up the helmet hung on one handlebar and put it on Harry's head.

"You're all hopeless," Molly said crossly. 

"Got to keep petrol in it, too, Harry, it's part of the Muggle bits," said Remus. "Hagrid can show you, he knows how it works."

"Don't you?" Arthur asked. "I'm sure I saw you fly it once, Lupin."

Remus shrugged. "Once or twice. Never for very long."

"Show me!" Harry cried. Ron, bent in solemn contemplation over the front wheel with his father on the other side, jumped back as Harry inadvertently revved the engine. 

The lesson lasted all afternoon, with most of the Order lounging on the back steps, watching or giving useless advice, while Harry learned how to shift the gears properly and make the motorbike look as though it was just running along the ground while hovering it a few centimetres above. When he finally took flight and circled Headquarters, he was greeted with claps and cheers from the Order. He pulled his helmet off and grinned widely as he landed.

"It's brilliant," he breathed, cutting the ignition expertly, as if he'd been doing it his whole life. 

"Yours by right," Remus replied. "And inheritance."

"Ye rode that bike when ye were just a wee tot," Hagrid added. "Hel' you in this hand. And ye slep' right through mos' of it."

Harry swung his leg over and off the bike, setting the helmet carefully on the seat.

He did not hug the older man. Sixteen year old boys are very particular about when and where they hug. But he did give Remus a brilliant smile -- James Potter's smile -- and said thank you, and let Remus clap him on the back as they sat on the steps of the back porch.

Fred and George, who'd been waiting all evening for this, began to set off fireworks.

"So," Tonks said, seated on the other side of Remus from Harry. "Been a good day, Harry?"

"It's been perfect," Harry said, sitting back to watch the fireworks. 

"Perfect's the word," Remus replied. 

"Won't last, will it?" Tonks asked softly, as Harry leaned away to make some remark to Ron and Hermione, who were perched on the edge of the back steps. 

"Never does," Remus replied. "But that doesn't matter. Harry had a good day."

"So did we," Tonks reminded him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hand curling under his arm. He glanced anxiously at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster caught his eye, gave him a solemn wink, and turned back to the fireworks. 

He saw, because he'd begun to learn to see, that other members of the Order were occasionally glancing their way, and knew that this was Tonks' way of announcing their...hobby, to the general populace. He rather wished she'd asked him, first, but he had after all said that she could tell anyone she liked...

And it was nice to feel her cheek on his shoulder. 

There had been far too much nice in his world lately. This meant that trouble was brewing. But sitting on the steps in the balmy summer evening, watching fireworks with Tonks next to him and Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the other side, Dumbledore's tacit approval and the company of the Order, well fed on cake...

It was terribly difficult to care whether or not Perfect wouldn't last. 

When the fireworks finally ended, he helped Harry wheel the motorbike into a back room of the mansion and cover it up again with the promise that if he was careful, he could take Ron and Hermione riding on it after a few more lessons. The Order began drifting homeward, and Molly and Arthur were clearing up when he and Harry walked into the ballroom; Molly insisted that Harry go take his new gifts upstairs and enjoy them, though the boy offered to help clean.

"Moll, have you got all the forks?" Arthur called, as plates stacked themselves under his watchful eye.

"Thirty two, is that right?"

"Right as rain. Not much left of the cake..."

"Oh, do save it, there's a dear..." Molly said, as Arthur slid the remains of the cake onto a clean plate. "Quite a nice party."

"Just what the lad wanted," Arthur agreed, leaning across the table to kiss her on the cheek. "Well done, Molly."

"It wasn't anything," Molly said with a smile. Remus moved quietly out of the doorway and back into the hallway.

He climbed the back stairs, past Harry's room where he and Ron were laughing over something, past the strange-smelling rooms that the twins inhabited, and around the landing to his own.

Molly and Arthur were two of his closest friends in the world. After James and Lily died, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban and they all thought Peter had been killed, he'd stayed with them while he tried to reassemble a life without his -- his only friends, really. They'd filled part of that gap. Over the years Arthur had always tried to send work his way, and they'd both been overjoyed to find out he was teaching at Hogwarts. 

He hated that he envied them; not just Arthur for having a wife who put up with more than almost any woman would, but both of them, for having each other. Not to mention attempting to singlehandedly double the Wizarding population of England with their offspring. 

Because that wasn't something he could have. He'd tried. Not even for children. Just for a woman who would tolerate him. A woman who would tolerate him and agree to give it that one in four chance, that was too much to ask for, but even just having someone...someone like Molly. 

Tonks tolerated him, but Tonks was in it for the fun. She came and went, and probably didn't think about it much. Besides, he hadn't thought of her. Much. Not constantly, certainly. Too much else to think about.

Because he was in it for the fun, too. Well, perhaps not for the fun, but for decent human contact, and Tonks was beautiful, and smart, and she put up with him. 

And she'd slapped Severus Snape, which in his book was grounds for some kind of civil service medal. 

"So did you miss me?"

He paused, one hand on his desk, and let his head fall, and smiled.

"Kingsley asked me about us," Tonks said, from a shadowy niche near the fireplace. 

"Kingsley could rip my arm off and beat me over the head with it," he replied.

"Kingsley knows I'd castrate him if he tried."

"Tough girl, Tonks."

"They don't come any tougher," she said, moving to stand near him. "He still thinks you ought to be keeping Snape reined in a little tighter."

"After me yelling at him and you slapping him, we ought to give the man a break, not a chaperone," Remus replied, one hand moving to pull her closer. 

"Let's talk about anything but what we're talking about," Tonks said softly.

"How about not talking at all?"

"Works for me."

He covered her mouth with his, enjoying the way she moved against his body. She never seemed quite completely still, and the pads of his fingertips worked their way down her body, through her unbuttoned robe, stroking, forcing soft, pleased sounds from the back of her throat. God, she was good at this.

He wondered, idly, because there was a part of him that was scholar first and a man second, whether this was a part of Auror training. This...responsiveness. The knowledge of how to pick the right time, the right place.

Just the right person...

Shock ran through him, a physical jolt that made Tonks laugh and slide her hand between their hips, wanting more. It was equal parts surprise at the implications of his thought, and disgust that he'd even had it at all. That he could think Tonks, of all people, would do that, would seduce him in order to spy...it was his fault any of this had even happened, he reminded himself, so distracted that he barely felt her undoing his waistcoat and threadbare white shirt. 

No. No. This was Tonks. It was just something they did. It wasn't romance; it was need for human contact, a mutual understanding. It wasn't a...seduction. For any reason.

He forced his mind to be silent, forced the small, sensible voices in his head to stop talking. 

She nuzzled the base of his neck and said his name softly.

"Yes?" he asked, bending to speak in her ear, his right hand sliding over hip, down to rest on her thigh.

"Yes," she agreed, pushing him back towards the bedroom. He went willingly, still forcing himself not to think. Surprisingly difficult. 

"Do you know," he asked, nearly tumbling backwards on to the edge of the bed. She climbed over him, and bare skin on bare skin made him gasp. "Do you know...why I...good god, please..."

Tonks leaned back from the kiss, a little, and wriggled. He moaned.

"Why you...?" she prompted. He groped for words.

"Why I finally gave in?" he asked. She spread her legs a little, and slid down further on his thighs.

"Because I promised to shag you senseless?" she asked.

"You never promised that," he said, gripping her waist and turning her onto the bed, following until he lay on top of her, elbows holding him up, hands on her face.

_Not to know what your real face is,_ he thought. _A tragedy..._

"Then why?" she asked, eyes wide as he touched her forehead, her cheeks.

"Because I couldn't bear that you stopped touching me," he admitted.

"No fear," she replied lightly, and bucked her hips suddenly. He bowed his head and moaned, and when she moved her legs he moved forward, slowly, making her draw in her breath, sharply.

"Never...stop..." he begged, moving his hands to cradle her head. She sighed a small "Umnh" of pleasure, and began to move faster. He had some question to ask her, some demand to make, but all he could feel now was the pulse through his veins and her, moving with it, destroying all chance at thought, rational or any other kind...

When her thumbs slid across his shoulders and she moaned, low and almost pained, he felt her pleasure straight into his body, and responded; she only cried out once more, when he gripped her tightly and nearly howled into her neck.

For a few moments, though time could pass strangely for him, there was silence. 

"I don't do this nearly enough," he said, and had the pleasure of hearing her laugh against his ribcage. "I'm out of condition."

"Every skill takes practice," Tonks said gravely. 

He rolled and stretched an arm behind his head, the thought he'd so successfully avoided rushing back to him. Freight-train style. 

No. He had been there, when he was her age, had felt the baseless suspicions of the Order that he was a betrayer. He would not do Tonks that disservice just because she was...

_...everything you want,_ said another voice, entirely new. _Perfect doesn't last, and young women do not fall for men like you,_ it added mockingly.

He got the picture. If this was going to be perfect, he was going to wreck it. It was what he did.

But not tonight.

"Fireworks were nice, tonight," Tonks said sleepily, half-mumbling into his collarbone.

"Good cake, too. And Harry looked happy."

"Awfully nice, to give him that motorbike."

"Wasn't mine to give," he murmured. "Belonged to Sirius. Ought to go to Harry."

"You like him, don't you?"

Remus grinned. "Not like I like you, Tonks."

There was a sleepy snicker, and after a while her breathing fell even.

_Try, please, Remus, try not to screw this up,_ he told himself. _It's not even a real romance. It's just sex. This really should be easy not to screw up._

_So try. Really hard. You useless git._


	4. Chapter 4

There were two citizens who fought   
For years and years, and over nought;   
They made life awkward for their friends,   
And shortened their own dividends.  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Tonks was gone when Remus woke, the first time that had happened, and he realised he'd overslept; the house was too quiet for it to be breakfast, and there was too much sunlight for it to be early. He tumbled out of the bed and wandered his way, half-conscious, through a shower and shave, through dressing and down to the kitchen, where the remains of the breakfast dishes were sitting in the sink. 

He had things to do; several people had brought reports with them to Harry's party, which he had to read and decipher into useful information. Severus, through Arthur, had mentioned that he'd narrowed the field of possibilities for Voldemort's stronghold to five or six places, and if they were going to try to find them, they'd best do it soon. 

There was the morning owl post to see to -- two belated cards and the usual yearly Hogwarts letter for Harry, and a long-past-due bill from a bookshop in Knockturn Alley for some volumes he'd purchased a few months ago. He sighed and laid it next to the pile of reports. If he sold that essay...

No replies from the journals he'd sent it to, as of yet. He laid the cards out for Harry -- backfiring noises from behind the house would seem to indicate he was playing with the motorbike, though he'd been strictly forbidden to ride it unsupervised until he'd had some more practice.

One more envelope -- no, just a piece of folded paper -- slipped through his fingers, and he caught it before it drifted to the floor. 

_Remus --_

_Sorry I left early this morning. You need to get out of that house more._

_6pm Galileo's, Sosi Alley._

_Don't bring Harry. If you do, I'll hurt you._

_\-- "Dora"_

He smiled. At least she hadn't called him Remy. On the other hand, if someone else had come in and gotten to the mail first...

Well, it wasn't as though they had to keep it a secret. It was just that people were going to raise their eyebrows, he thought. A pushing-middle-age werewolf and a just-from-training Auror. And he knew who they were going to raise their eyebrows at. 

And this -- Galileo's, in Sosi Alley -- sounded suspiciously like something more than their...hobby. Their hobby wasn't something one did at Galileo's. Not unless one was at the very dimmest table, and far more adventurous than Remus Lupin would ever admit to being.

He was probably being foolish. He had been at Headquarters a lot, recently, but then he had responsibilities here, especially with Harry about. She probably just wanted him to take an evening off. She was, after all, his friend first. 

The thought of what she was "second" did strange things to his body temperature.

There was another roar from the back yard, and a string of cursewords. Remus smiled to himself and gathered up his reports, heading for the back porch. He could keep an eye on Harry, read, make notes, and still tell Tonks that he did indeed spend most of the day out of the house.

Harry was sitting next to the motorbike, inspecting the engine. Every so often he'd mutter a word in Latin, and it would roar.

"Troubles already?" Remus asked. Harry looked up, a smear of grease on his forehead. 

"I want to know how he enchanted it," he said. 

"Why?"

"Because Sirius did it," Harry answered. Remus nodded. 

"Fair enough. Mind if I keep you company?"

"Long as you don't mind hearing me swear."

"Can I look disapproving?"

"Sure," Harry said with a smile, and turned back to his work. "You don't happen to know, do you?"

"No, Sirius never even told us he had one until it was done," Remus said absently, riffling through the sheets of parchment. "James might have known..." 

He glanced up and saw Harry watching him, a strange look in his eyes. 

"Sorry," he said softly. "That was thoughtless of me."

"It's all right," Harry replied, wiping his forehead with his arm and turning back to the machine. "At least you don't walk around it like everyone else does."

"Well, I don't -- what?"

"Dumbledore does it all the time," Harry said, apparently to the fuel tank. "You watch. Whenever he talks to me. It's like he's talking to my dad, and he just doesn't want to admit it."

"He probably just sees the resemblance. So do I, if it comes to that."

"Sirius did it too. More after he came back here," Harry continued. "Even Mr. Weasley does it. Only with him it's like he's talking to me, but he's thinking about every...single...word...he says."

"I'm sure he doesn't do that, Harry," Remus said, though he was already reaching back in his memory to consider things.

"Remus...no offence..." Harry grunted, tightening a nut somewhere in the depths of the mechanism, "But you didn't even know you were leading the Order until Arthur Weasley told you."

He glanced up at Remus' stunned face. "Tonks mentioned it me," he said, and went back to the machine. "It's fine. The point is, you don't do what they do. And when I'm let into the Order people will see I'm not my dad. Or a ghost."

He started the bike up then, and Remus couldn't even hear himself over the roar, let alone speak to Harry. So he bent to his pages, beginning to plan for the next Order mission. 

It was going to be a big one, he thought. A concerted effort, something with careful planning. Small teams of two, checking in on a regular basis...he'd go out himself, he decided, and let the twins run things from the house, it'd be good experience and he wanted the older members doing the actual work. Any stronghold of Voldemort's would be heavily warded. He doubted even Dumbledore would get past them, let alone Fred and George Weasley...but they had to try.

He looked up from the hand-drawn map that Arthur had included in his brief report, on which he was making copious notes, to check on Harry. He'd never realised that Harry's hair wasn't all one shade; like his own, it was shot through with lighter colours, the roots of which were bleaching in the sun. 

Sixteen years ago, they would have spent a day like this at the little house in Godric's Hollow, James and Lily continually fussing over Harry while Sirius teased his friend about being a father already, and Remus and Peter regarded the boy with wary affection. 

Not much change there, then. Harry was still slightly alien, never fully open to anyone, especially now that Sirius was gone. Remus knew the feeling, and knew Harry would survive it -- hadn't he survived it himself for the better part of three decades?

He wished like hell the boy didn't have to, though.

"I think I've got it," Harry announced triumphantly. "Variation on the basic Wingardium, isn't it? Much more complicated, but it's all down to the base spell...I think I could rework it if I had to."

Remus tilted his head, and smiled. "Got your father's brains," he said. 

Harry gave him a solemn nod, and dusted himself off.

"You want lunch?" he asked. "I'd rather not just feed myself. I'm used to cooking for four."

***

Remus lay his papers on the table and went to the cupboard to take down plates and cups. Harry found bread and meat, lettuce and onions, and some self-slicing cheese which, when tapped with a wand, would provide perfect thin slices every time. He made sandwiches, following Remus' absent directions for his, while the older man poured lemonade for Harry and one of the apparently random bottles of beer in the icebox for himself. Halfway to the table, Remus lifted his head, listening intently.

"Better cut some more bread," he said. "Turkey, mustard, cheese, lettuce, no onions."

"Who...?" Harry asked, confused.

"Dumbledore's coming," Remus replied, taking down a third cup. He gave Harry a sly smile. "Werewolf senses," he explained. Harry nodded, and cut two more slices of bread. 

Dumbledore did arrive, not a minute later, and a warm breeze blew through the dim, chilly house when he walked through the door. Remus, mouth full of sandwich, gestured to the third plate, and Dumbledore smiled.

"You are perpetually anticipating me," he said, seating himself, eating neatly for a man with a voluminous beard and moustache. "It's a pleasant day out -- "

"I'm calling a meeting," Remus said. Dumbledore bowed his head a little. 

"Anticipatory and direct," he murmured. 

"The Dark Lord's stronghold," Remus continued, unfolding the map he'd been working on, daring Dumbledore to send Harry away. The map was covered in concentric circles, some running off the page; Dumbledore examined it with interest.

"Mostly Severus' work, isn't it?" he asked. "Fine draftsmanship."

"Kingsley's been checking his work. It's sound."

"Eight likely spots."

"And a dozen unlikely ones. But I thought we ought to at least get a start."

Dumbledore's eyes slid to Harry again, and Remus shook his head.

"Harry and the twins can stay here and monitor things. Not taking reports, just making sure nobody gets hurt," Remus continued. "The end of the week. Nobody's working. Just a day in the countryside."

"All over the countryside," Dumbledore observed. 

"Yes," Remus replied. "All over."

Dumbledore sat silently, watching Remus, and the werewolf had the eerie sensation that his thoughts were far too similar to the thoughts Remus himself had entertained, watching Harry. 

Three generations of secrecy, he thought sadly. Three generations of not...quite...understanding.

Then the older man nodded and returned to the map. "Don't choose who goes where until we know who can come. I'll put the word about."

"Have you spoken to Kingsley, recently?" Remus asked, significantly. Dumbledore nodded. "And...?"

"Severus will be there," was all the Headmaster would say. "Excellent sandwich, Harry, thank you. Remus, I'd like to speak to you alone, if I may? No, Harry, finish your lunch," he added, as the boy stood, slightly sullen, to leave. "We'll walk out, if Remus doesn't object."

Dumbledore led the way out the front door and down into the city street, and Remus heard a soft, windy noise as Headquarters vanished from view. He fell into step beside his Headmaster, the man who, if Severus Snape was right, had him by a very short leash.

"Things are changing, and quickly," Dumbledore said, as they walked. Remus nodded. "You've begun to take more of an interest in Order affairs. In putting the Order's affairs to rights, as it were."

"If I've overstepped -- "

"No, Remus. You are very careful never to overstep your bounds," Dumbledore interrupted. "I don't disapprove."

"But...?"

"But I wonder why this change," Dumbledore replied. "I wonder why you have...assumed the role you were being prepared for, so early."

"You never do anything without a reason, do you?"

"Oh, I do many things without reason," Dumbledore replied, with a sunny smile. 

"Not when it comes to the Order."

That seemed to silence the Headmaster, and they walked on for a while without speaking.

"Arthur told me I was being looked to," Remus said finally. "So I thought I ought to do something worth watching."

"And you are no longer a prefect."

"No. Certainly not."

"And it has nothing to do with your new...friendship with Nymphadora?"

Remus sighed. "My personal friendships are the last thing I want people to see when they look at me. Especially this one."

"I hear Severus Snape was fairly badly bruised."

"That was Tonks."

"Indeed."

Remus stopped walking, and crossed his arms. "You know, you did say I wasn't a Prefect anymore. You can't go through life treating everyone as if they never left school, Dumbledore."

"I find that technique works extremely well in most cases, actually," Dumbledore replied, flashing that confident smile again. "Kingsley Shacklebolt suspects Severus of being a spy. Arthur Weasley suspects Mundungus Fletcher of being a dupe. And are you...afraid...of anyone in the Order? You said yourself you felt you ought to take the job when it was offered."

Remus thought for an instant about Tonks. About how young women did not seduce men ten years older than them without a reason, and especially prematurely-greying, borderline-alcoholic, highly nonsocial werewolves. 

"No," he said slowly. "Unless we know there's a spy, it's useless to suspect anyone. Even Severus Snape."

Dumbledore nodded, eyes never leaving Remus' face.

"If you do have suspicions, I'd like to hear them," he said. "Tell Harry goodbye, would you?"

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore Disapparated, leaving him alone on the street.

***

Sosi Alley was the fashionable district of the magical quarter that Diagon Alley opened into; it was mostly brick, with iron terraces and traditional green doors. Most of the storefronts were old converted houses; Galileo's, which dominated the street, was one of the few buildings that had obviously been meant as a restaurant from the start. The front of the building was almost entirely glass: windows in wooden frames, which stretched from the flower-boxes on the ground to the ceiling. They were open in the summer evening, and the sound of people talking and eating drifted out.

Inside, the restaurant was...different. Out on the street the sun was still up and it washed the brick to vivid orange and reds; inside, the light was blue and silver, and it was easy to see why. 

The ceiling didn't even appear to exist -- instead, like the high ceilings of the Hogwarts great hall, it was enchanted to look like a brilliant night sky, stars sparkling down on the diners. Every so often, clouds drifted across, lit by lighting, to the awe and approval of those at the small, linen-covered tables. 

"You could try being late, just once," said a voice behind him, and he turned to smile at Tonks, standing in the doorway. 

"I was admiring your choice of location," he said, fighting down the little voice in the back of his head which said there was no way he could afford even his own meal in a place like this.

"Kingsley recommended it," she said, taking his arm as a silent, dignified maitre'd led them to a back table. "He said it never failed."

"Never fai...oh." Remus raised his eyebrows. "Did you really have worries on that front, Tonks?"

She laughed. "I thought you'd like to go out for an evening."

"If the house burns down while I'm gone, because I left Harry with the twins, I'm telling Dumbledore to blame you," he replied. 

"I'll take the fall."

He smiled and opened his menu, allowing the minutiae of ordering food and wine to fill his mind, pushing his suspicions and worries away. The wine helped, and so did Tonks, who distracted him with talk of her job, and Wizarding politics, and the Prophet's latest editorials. 

He couldn't recall when he had so entirely managed to avoid thinking of work, or worrying about...well, about anything. 

That probably wasn't a good thing, he thought, fingers idly turning his wineglass. Tonks was saying something about proper use of the word "they're" as opposed to "there" in editorials, and he wasn't quite following it, but that was all right; it was just talk, and Tonks liked to fill the silences. 

"You look like you're thinking something devious," she said, grinning at him.

"I'm not thinking at all," he replied.

"My nefarious plan succeeds!" she laughed. "Good for you, Remus."

He smiled and drained the last of the wine. "Plotting my downfall, hm?"

"No, just a gentle slide away from round-the-clock worrying," Tonks said. 

"I don't worry round the clock," he protested. She lifted an eyebrow. "I sleep at least five hours a night."

"Yes, what a wild life you lead," Tonks murmured. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"The check -- "

" -- it's taken care of," she said, standing. He got to his feet, curious. "I did a favour for the owner once."

"Should I ask?"

"Confidential."

"You didn't break the law, did you?"

She grinned. "It's a little bendy, you know, when you're an Auror. And don't..."

"...worry," he sighed. She reached up and drew her fingers through a cloud passing over the heads of the diners, sending grey wisps eddying away. When they stepped outside, she slid her arm around his waist and leaned against him, smiling. He settled his own arm around her shoulders.

"You liked dinner, didn't you?" she asked. 

"I did indeed."

"And you're glad to get out of Headquarters?"

"Tonks, are _you_ worrying?" he asked, as they passed out of Sosi Alley and into the main street. 

"Just taking a poll," she replied. "I'm free tonight, you know."

"I deduced you might be."

"We could go look in the shops, or get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Or go home," he murmured, in her ear, and felt a pleasant shiver go through her.

"Let's walk a little," she replied. 

"That sounds good." He felt her arm tighten, and became aware of his breathing. 

Shallow. She'd warned him about that. 

He forced himself to breathe more deeply, and smelled the rich scent of Diagon Alley -- sun-warmed streets, chill sweetness from Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlour, dust and dry paper from Flourish & Blott's. 

"I think," he said, as they passed storefronts and shop windows, "that I truly enjoy this hobby. And so far it's remarkably inexpensive."

"That's the beauty of the hobby," she replied, but he felt her tense a little. 

"Cold?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Tonks said, and he nodded. He was imagining the tension in her shoulders, the slight pull of her arm. 

Imagining it. 

***

The meeting was called for that Friday evening -- at least that way they could relax while they contemplated possible doom. Tonks, on arriving, was the first to point this out, but she wasn't the last; as Mundungus Fletcher arrived (late, as usual) Bill Weasley was just saying that he felt Lupin had scheduled this on purpose, in order to get them drunk before sending them to their deaths. Remus, who was handing him a whiskey sour as he said it, merely smiled and pointed out that everyone was assuming he had their deaths all planned out. 

"Makes it easier when we don't die," Bill replied. 

"That's a good habit to cultivate," Moody said, in all seriousness.

"Not dying?" Bill asked. 

"Lupin, why are we here?" Snape interrupted. "I'm assuming it has more import than listening to Weasley and Moody debate semantics."

"We're here because of you, Severus," Remus replied. The bruising on Snape's cheekbone had healed nicely -- more the pity, really. He had seen the bruises when Snape had come to work with Harry, most mornings, and he thought some of the Order would dearly like to see it too. "Your work."

He spread the map -- now annotated in several shades of ink -- on the table. "We know that the Dark Lord has a stronghold somewhere in England. He knows we have one."

"Even-hand standoff," Moody grunted. Remus nodded.

"Hopefully not for long."

"Fortunately we have no nefarious plots to carry out in the near future," Tonks put in. "So we've got the manpower to go looking, and the information on where to start."

"Right in one," Remus nodded. 

"Field trip!" Bill Weasley laughed. "We going snake-hunting?"

"More or less. I want at least one older, experienced member on each team. Fletcher and Tonks, Arthur and Bill, Molly and Moody, Arabella and Kingsley, and Severus, you're with me. Dumbledore and McGonagall couldn't be here, but they've already drawn the northern area."

"What about us?" Fred asked.

"You two and Harry are to stay here and monitor. Every team checks in with Fred or George before leaving, and every two hours with one of the three. If someone finds anything, we want to know about it. That way if you do die, Bill, it won't have been in vain."

"Good to know," Bill said ruefully.

"You'll be going amongst Muggles, so remember to try and blend in. If you have questions, ask Arabella. We want to know if anything strange has been happening, any odd lights, strangely-dressed people...other than us, I suppose," he sighed, taking in Fletcher's brightly striped robes. "Any local cults or strange clubs. Anything that feels wrong. You know what to look for. Try to be aware. Try not to get murdered unnecessarily."

"You're all hope, Remus," Arthur murmured. 

"This is a big operation, our biggest so far. I want everyone reporting back here in person by Sunday evening. Otherwise, where you search is at your discretion...and luck of the draw," he added. He handed half the group small slips of parchment. "Those are the names of likely towns. If you don't find anything in town, spread out from there."

He consulted the last slip he'd saved, and looked at Snape. "We're in Little Hangleton."

"I know the place," Snape said, his voice low. The others began comparing papers. A few, he noticed, traded them. 

"I don't want anyone starting tonight. Tomorrow morning, tell someone where you're going -- both of you -- and remember to call in. Thanks to Hermione..." he said, drawing a handful of Galleons out of his pocket, "that shouldn't be hard. These'll turn warm when you're supposed to check back. Press down on it and Fred and George will know you're all right. If you have to pass information back, Apparate or Floo to the house. Don't split up," he added sternly. 

Kingsley gave him a facetious salute, and he smiled. 

"I boss because I don't want anyone dying," Remus said carefully. "Any questions?"

"If we do die, are you going to yell at us?" Fletcher asked, and the meeting broke up, amid laughs and good-natured claps on the back. Snape, barely stopping, hissed that he would be there at eight sharp the next morning, and he didn't want to have to wait. Remus nodded and let it pass. The man'd had enough abuse at his hands lately.

He was pleased to see that some people stayed to drink and talk; he found he was forming very clear ideas about what the Order ought to be, and one of those ideas was that people in the Order should be...well, friends. People who spoke to each other because they wanted to. People who could complain to each other. 

This leadership thing wasn't half bad, he decided. 

He should have known the warm feeling of a job well done was too good to last.

"Remus, can I have a word?" Tonks asked, sidling up next to him as he tacked the map to a wall, and laid the Galleons on a table below it. 

"Of course -- is something wrong?" he asked, noticing she hadn't touched the drink in her hand, and was looking rather less cheerful than usual.

"In private?"

"Right now?"

She bit her lips, and it was obvious that "yes, right now" was warring with "this is personal". He suddenly doubted that this private talk was going to be as enjoyable as some they'd had.

***

When they walked into one of the empty rooms near the stairway -- once the servants' rooms, now mostly used for storage or as guest rooms -- Tonks set her glass on the table, her back to him, and crossed her arms. 

"What's going on?" he asked, coming forward, but not quite all the way. She clearly didn't want him that close to her, and he was exceptionally good at body language, most of the time. 

"How did you make out the teams?" she asked quietly. "Did you list them out beforehand?"

"I couldn't, I didn't know who could come. I mean, some of them -- mostly I just saw who was there. Why?"

"Did you know you were going to send Kingsley out with Arabella? And me with Fletcher?"

"Well, I knew I could trust -- Tonks, what are you getting at?"

"Snape," she said, biting off the end of the word viciously. "You're taking Snape."

"Well, Kingsley doesn't trust him, Arthur couldn't control him, you slapped him, Fletcher and Bill both hate him, and Dumbledore asked for McGonagall. Besides, I needed someone I can trust with Fletcher." He crossed his arms, and bowed his head. "Is that a problem?"

"Well, Kingsley asked for him specifically because he doesn't trust him, and I rather thought I'd be going along with you. And I don't think your random distribution of towns was all that random," Tonks added. "I think you saved the one Snape's got his hopes pinned on for yourself."

"I'm not going to send anyone out to do a thing I wouldn't do myself."

"First rule of leadership."

"For a reason."

"Stupid reason."

"Don't let's fight, Tonks," he said, moving forward. She shrugged out of his grasp when he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Believe me, if it's a choice between a weekend with you and one with Severus Snape, I'd jump for you in a heartbeat. But I've got to do this. I'm not allowed to let anything I think or feel get in the way."

"You never do anyway," she said, crossing her arms again. "That's your tragedy, Remus. You divide things up so finely into little boxes that you can't see anything but the divisions."

"That's not fair, Tonks."

"I never claimed I was fair," she rejoined, harshly.

"No, but I never thought you were cruel, either."

She laughed, bitterly. "Cruel? Cruel is..."

He waited patiently. Finally she put her hands to her face, and sighed. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"I think that's assuming a lot."

"I don't want reasons, Remus! I know the reasons! I don't want explanations or rational, logical proofs as to why you have to go to Little Hangleton with Severus Snape! I want you to make sympathetic noises and say you're sorry and promise you'll never do it again, even if we both know you will."

He gazed at her, utterly confused. "Why?"

"I said you wouldn't understand. Because that's what I want, I can't explain it. That's what b -- "

She stopped, suddenly, and turned away. "It's what people do. For each other. I don't want logic, Remus. I want comfort."

"I tried to comfort you," he said haplessly. "I did say let's not fight -- "

"After feeding me all sorts of rationality that I don't want to hear!"

"My god, what on earth am I supposed to do?" he asked, spreading his arms. "Tonks, I don't want to fight with you! I don't want to go out there along with a former Death Eater, you know! I don't like it! But I have to do it!" 

"This isn't about Snape!"

"You could have bloody fooled me!"

"You just stood there and casually tossed out names, like you'd just thought it up on the spot -- "

" -- most of them I did, once I saw who was there! -- " 

" -- and like the fact that you were sending me out with Mundungus Fletcher to face who-knows-what, without even looking at me..."

"What, did you want me to kiss you while I said it?"

She was silent, and he felt shame creep over him; this wasn't fair to either of them, but especially to her.

"I just wanted to know that you thought more of me than just another soldier, that's all," she said, after a moment or two. 

He crossed the space between them and caught her as she turned, his hands on her cheeks, one sliding down her throat as he kissed her. 

"No one in the Order is just another soldier," he said, against her lips. "And you are not just anyone. You know that. My god, Tonks, the things I've told you -- the things I've let you do -- "

"It'd be nice to hear it, that's all," she whispered, her hands rising to cover his, to pull them away. He leaned back, slightly.

"What do you want me to say? I'll say it," he said. "Do you want me to -- "

" -- no. I just wanted to know that you would," she interrupted. 

"That makes no sense."

"I'm not interested in making sense."

He let her move his hands down her body until they rested on her hips; then he pulled her closer. 

"I have to be one man for you, and one for the Order," he murmured. "You have to understand that, Tonks."

"Which one's the real one?"

"Can't they both be?"

"Only if they both care. About me. And I don't care if that's selfish."

He breathed deeply, and kissed her hair when she rested her head on his collarbone.

"This is where we start hurting each other, isn't it?" he asked.

"It could be."

"I hate this part."

"Shut up," she said, and he felt the vibration of her speech on his skin. "Just don't talk anymore, all right?"

"All this anger over Severus Snape?" he said, ignoring her request. "He's not worth it, Tonks. Dora," he added, and he felt her snort of laughter. 

"You really are wonderfully oblivious sometimes," she said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, as she'd done with the cloud in Galileo's. 

"Everyone keeps saying that," he sighed. 

"And now you can stop talking, like I told you to."

"Dora," he murmured, into a kiss that was fast threatening to cut off his air supply. But he didn't speak again until she released him and stepped back.

"I should get some rest. Early morning tomorrow. You should, too."

"Yes, I've got to tour the countryside," he said, in the mimicry of Snape's tones which always made her smile. 

"I know it's unreasonable, Remus," she said quietly. "I know it doesn't make sense and it's not what a good Auror would say. But you don't employ me as an Auror." Her fingers lifted a stray lock of hair off his forehead. "You're my...friend. And it's strange to me when I see you giving orders like that. That's all."

She pulled away, just a little; he followed her to the door, and then back into the loud, laughing crowd of Order members, who were already making plans for the following day. 

***

As promised, Snape arrived sharply at eight, and Remus was waiting; he initialed their names on the map, gave a farewell salute to Fred and George, and walked out into the front yard of 12 Grimmauld Place.

"You've been," Remus said. "I'll follow you there."

Snape nodded curtly and Disapparated, Remus following a second later. It was always slightly bewildering, following someone to a place you'd never been, but he managed, and when he'd regained his footing he saw that they were standing in a dusty, scrub-covered ditch, next to a paved road. 

"This way to town," Snape said, still just barely avoiding Remus. They'd been two of the first to check out with Fred and George; Remus wondered if anyone else was having to put up with similar. 

"It's a pretty sort of place, isn't it?" he asked, as they crested a rise and saw the town before them. Snape snorted.

"It has streets and houses enough," he replied. 

"Strange to think about the Dark Lord's family living here."

"Generations of ruthless, worthless Muggles."

"I'm sure some of them were all right."

"You have a better view of human nature than I," he answered. 

"Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, there are worse ways to spend a Saturday."

"Than poking about a Muggle village for the most powerful Dark Wizard in a hundred years? Who, incidentally, would be happy to see you dead and probably would purposefully keep me alive if I were caught? Name three."

"Actually being dead, actually being caught, and having food poisoning," Remus said promptly.

"So gratified to know you prefer me to food poisoning."

"It's a slim margin."

"The feeling is mutual."

"I thought it might be," Remus said, kicking a stone as they walked. They were near the village now, and he could see the High Street, a large ornamental fountain at its end. "Shall we have a look round, first? Bit early to go to the pub but I bet we could pick something up if we stopped for breakfast."

"The graveyard is that way," was all Severus said in reply. Remus, who had not slept well enough to fight about it, simply followed. 

"Reckon this is where it happened?" he asked, as they climbed the steep hill to the church. Snape looked around him and stepped sideways, staring at the yew tree nearby.

"This was it," he said softly. "That night when he called us...this is where he wanted us to come. The night he came back."

Remus watched as Snape repositioned himself, climbing the hill a little, to turn and look out across the town. 

"Something's missing," Snape murmured. "Missing from the picture."

Remus stared around him, eyes narrowing. Now that Snape said it, something tugged at the edge of his consciousness; as though there were a feeling that there was a thing, somewhere, was screaming 'don't look at me'.

It felt, he thought idly, the way James and Lily's house felt after it was destroyed. The lingering effects of the secrecy spell, wearing off now that the building was gone.

"Something there," Snape said, and pointed. There was a shimmering mirage above a grassy field, a whisper in the air. Remus squinted. 

"It's a trap," Snape murmured. "Or it's abandoned. It wouldn't be so easy."

Because now, out of the air, a house was forming slowly; if they concentrated, they could see large, sprawling lines -- a rich house, nearly a mansion. Growing more solid by the minute. 

"How on earth..." Remus said, as the last line shook and solidified. Snape took a few steps towards the house, circling downward towards the gate of the graveyard.

Remus, standing above him on the hill, glanced down at the gravestone next to him. It was cracked, and the bottom grown with moss. It bore quite a simple legend.

TOM RIDDLE.

"Let's check in with Fred and George," he said cautiously. Snape nodded, and vanished without a word. A second later he was back, and Remus didn't bother to scold him for leaving a partner behind.

***

Inside the house it was cool, and smelled of dust; they entered cautiously, wands out, Snape walking ahead. It was a sprawling place, once richly decorated, and it reminded Remus of 12 Grimmauld Place before Molly's cleaning squad. 

The smell of dust gave way to the scent of rancid food and rotting garbage as they passed the kitchen; Remus leaned through the doorway, noting the spoilt food on the counter, the filthy dishes overflowing the sink. Someone had been here, and they hadn't cared to clean when they left. 

There were smears of rusty brown on the floor. He reached out and tugged on Snape's sleeve, stepping into the kitchen.

"Blood," he said. "You can smell it."

"Bodies?" Snape asked, in a voice that was too calm to be quite believable. Remus opened a tall cupboard in the corner.

"I don't think so," he replied. "I think we'd know."

"Looks like they left in a rush," Snape commented, stepping calmly over the streaks on the floor to investigate the counter. 

"D'you think Voldemort was here?" 

"I think so."

"Me too," Remus replied grimly. "Left after the fight in the Ministry, reckon?"

"Or shortly before. They had to have known someone would come looking for them. They've been gone long enough for the fruit to spoil," Snape said with distaste. 

"Let's look upstairs."

"Oh yes, do let's," Snape replied sardonically, but he followed the other man up the creaking staircase.

"Do you suppose we haven't looked here before because of the secrecy spell?" Remus asked.

"Indubitably. I knew Dumbledore suspected the death of the caretaker was linked to the Dark Lord's rise, but..." Snape stopped at the top of the stairs, looking around at the dusty interior. "I can't imagine why he never investigated the place Frank Bryce was living in."

"Unless...it was hidden and warded..."

"Exactly." Snape stepped forward, pushing open a door, and for the Potions Master, the world went temporarily black.

***

Fred and George were working on new order forms for the business, heads bent over the desk, and Harry was monitoring the coins, as well as the map; a couple of the explorers had already floo'ed back, momentarily, to make reports. 

"Coming on noon," Fred said thoughtfully. "Feel like lunch, Harry?"

"Suppose so," Harry replied. "Bet if we wait a few minutes your mum'll check in."

George laughed. "Carrying something she just happened to pick up on the way back."

"Bet you a sickle Remus does it too," Fred put in. 

There was a thudding noise, and the flames in the fireplace burst into a brilliant array of colour before slowly revealing two people, who tumbled onto the enormous hearth. 

"Told you -- " Fred began, but Harry had stood so fast his chair fell over, and George, who was closest to the fireplace, was already moving forward.

Remus Lupin, cheek smeared with ash, arms supporting an unconscious Severus Snape, grinned up at them.

"Funny fact," he said, as George and Harry helped him drag Snape onto the carpet. "Did you know the Riddle house is hooked up to the Floo network illegally?"

"What happened?" Fred demanded. "Did he try to attack you?" 

"Did you have to hit him?" George added.

"Again?" Harry asked. 

"That was Tonks, and no, he didn't do anything," Remus sighed. "Except walk through a booby-trapped door."

"Dumbledore's NEVER going to let him teach Dark Arts now!" Fred crowed.

"He's been out for about three hours. He was bleeding pretty badly, I didn't want to move him until I'd got him under control," Remus said. "That's not all."

"What else?" Harry asked. Remus reached into the bag Snape had carried, and pulled out a shining white skull. The boys' amused expressions faded.

"Whose is it?" Fred asked softly.

"I suspect the caretaker's," Remus replied. "I left the rest of the bones there, but I thought Dumbledore ought to see it. There are..." he coughed. "Well, there are advanced spells for this sort of thing. You need the skull."

There was a loud crack outside the window, and Harry ran to look. "It's Tonks and Fletcher," he called. "And Mrs. Weasley and Moody."

"Has she got lunch?" George asked. Remus gave him a scolding look. "Well, I don't stop being hungry just because Severus Snape's not bright enough to knock first."

"If I'd been nearer the door, I would have done the same thing, George," Remus replied. "Harry, help me take him to his -- "

"Tonks doesn't look so good," Harry said, backing away from the window, and running to the front door of the mansion. Remus froze.

Light spilled in as Harry threw the door open. Remus stayed, crouched over Snape, as Molly's voice became audible, questioning, soothing. He watched Fletcher and Molly back through the doorway, and heard with a nearly physical sense of relief when Tonks answered them.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," she said. "Molly, really. Just let me get to a chair."

"Listen to the woman, Weasley," came Mad-Eye's voice. The pair of them walked in together, Tonks limping slightly. Her clothes were powdered in white, and there were bits of splintered wood in her hair, not to mention a truly spectacular bruise developing on her jaw. 

"What on earth happened to -- " Molly stopped, suddenly, as she saw Remus, crouching near the unconscious Snape. "Well, for crying out loud."

Tonks turned too, and blinked. "Did you fall through the ceiling too?" she asked. 

"The ceiling?" Remus asked in reply. "You fell through a ceiling?"

"Actually it was a floor...well, I thought it was a floor..." she limped to a chair and accepted a bag of ice from one of the twins. "Ta, Fred. Molly, it's all right, I'm okay. Embarrassed, but that's nothing new..."

"You fell through a ceiling?" Remus repeated. 

"Constant vigilance!" Mad-Eye Moody declared.

"I wasn't expecting the architecture to attack me," answered Tonks, a trifle sarcastically. 

"Should have done. S'what happened to Snape, innit?" Moody asked. Remus, pulling himself away from the 'fell through a ceiling' concept, nodded. 

"He walked through a booby-trapped door," he sighed. "Believe me when I say that spending three hours on the floor of the former headquarters of the Dark Lord, trying to stop the bleeding, is not the way to spend a Saturday morning. Although," he reflected cryptically, "it still beats food poisoning." 

"So you found something?" Tonks asked, leaning forward. Plaster dust cascaded off her. Molly tsked.

"You ought to change and see to yourself first," she said severely. 

"I'm just bruised," Tonks said dismissively. Remus was still watching her. "What happened? Should we go have a look?"

"You're not going anywhere," Fletcher put in. "She didn't half give me a fright, Lupin. 'I'll have a look around upstairs' says she, and the floor gives way and all I can think is 'Well, I guess she found the fastest way down'."

Tonks made a sound that was suspiciously like a giggle. 

"Lupin..." Mad-Eye said, thoughtfully, looking at the table. "You want to tell us whose skull that is?"

Remus straightened and sighed. "Mobilicorpus minimus," he murmured, and Snape rose into the air. "I'll get him settled. Then I want to hear about the ceiling," he added, as he moved Snape out of the room. 

"Not more than we want to hear about the skull," Mad-Eye replied. 

He heard them talking in quiet voices as he pushed Snape down the hallway towards his room and dropped him onto the bed. He was fairly sure he'd at least started the healing on most of the man's injuries; he wasn't a Healer, but he knew a trick or two of the trade. It'd been a long time since he'd seen that much blood.

When he returned, Mad-Eye was holding the skull, poking his fingers into the eye-sockets curiously; Tonks was picking bits of wood out of her hair, and the twins and Harry were bent over the lunch that Molly had, indeed, brought back with her. Mundungus Fletcher could be heard crashing about in the kitchen, and Molly was sitting on the edge of the sofa, next to Harry. 

"Put it down," Remus said tiredly, and Mad-Eye set the skull back on the table. "I think it belongs to Frank Bryce."

"To who?" Tonks asked.

"He was caretaker at the Riddle house. He disappeared just before the last Quidditch World Cup. Dumbledore took it as part of a sign that the Dark Lord was being resurrected."

"Doesn't do us much good now," Mad-Eye grunted. 

"It might, at some point." Remus leaned on the table in front of Tonks. "Now. Tell me about the ceiling."

She stopped in the middle of pulling another bit of wood out of her hair. 

"We asked around," she sighed. "Turns out the orphanage Tom Riddle grew up in was closed a couple of years ago. Fire hazards. Plus they said that they don't call them orphanages anymore."

"Group Foster Homes, whatever that means," Fletcher said, putting his head through the doorway. 

"Right...but there wasn't anything else in town to see -- well, one thing, but..." she shrugged. "We went up to the orphanage and had a look around. I said I'd see about the upstairs. I left Mundungus -- there were some files still in the office, I thought maybe we could find something out."

"Next thing I know, there's an almighty crash, and down she comes in a shower of rubbish," Fletcher put in.

"The floor was wood-beam and stucco. The wood had rotted away and the rest wouldn't hold my weight. Did break my fall though," she added cheerfully. "I've had worse."

"And you're all right? No broken bones?"

"Nah. I'll put a heating charm on my blanket tonight, keep me from stiffening up. I'm fine, Remus. Really."

He nodded, and realised that both Mad-Eye and Molly were looking at him oddly. He cleared his throat.

"You said there was something else...?"

"We found a Crinon," Fletcher said, carrying a bowl of stew into the room. He began to devour it, eating quickly but neatly as he talked. "It's a Muggle village, there's no wizarding going on there, so we thought it was a bit odd."

"A Crinon? In the middle of a Muggle village?" Molly asked.

"What's a Crinon?" Harry put in. Everyone looked at him; they'd forgotten he and the twins were still there. Now Remus saw that Fred and George were taking notes onto the map, and Harry was listening intently.

"I'd like to know too," George put in hastily.

"Crinon's Peculiar Fountain," Remus said distantly. "Mad-Eye, you know more about them than I do."

"Shame Snape's out cold, he knows the most," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "Tough trick to do. Not many wizards could manage it, even the experienced ones."

"It's a sort of potion, isn't it?" Molly asked. 

"Oh aye. Tis water magic. Hardest sort," said Mad-Eye, rubbing his chin. 

"When it's done right, it still looks like water. Only the water's made itself into a fountain. It's constantly re-cycling and cleaning itself," Remus said. "So if you have enough water to fill the bottom of a fountain, and you build the potion around the thing itself, it'll look like you've got a clean-running fountain. Without water pipes, or even a pump."

"When in fact it's the same water over and over, until someone stops it. Or until the water's gone," Mad-Eye added. 

"And there are charms to keep that from happening," Tonks added. "Which this one had."

"What's something like that doing in the middle of a Muggle town?" Harry asked.

"That's a good question," replied Tonks. She brushed at the plaster on her robe. "What'd you find?" she asked, but Remus was thinking back to the walk into town. They'd seen the High Street, and at the end had been a large, ornamental fountain...

"Remus?" Molly asked. 

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "We found...hm. The grounds of the old Riddle House. The whole thing had been under a secrecy spell, but it was already fading by the time we got there. We were standing in the...erm, in the graveyard," he said, glancing at Harry, who nodded slowly. "We went up to investigate the house...there's blood and spoilt food in the kitchen, and a magical trap on the upstairs room. Some sort of curse -- Severus walked in and something mauled him. By the time I'd stopped it..." he shrugged. "I stopped the bleeding. It took a couple of hours to get him safe to floo back. I tried the hearth in the room -- an illegal connection to the floo network. Clever charm, really..." he trailed off. 

"What about Yorick there?" Tonks asked.

"Who?" Molly asked. 

"The skull."

"There was a closet..." Remus said slowly. "I poked around a bit while Severus was healing..."

"You could have been mauled too," Molly said angrily.

"I took all the necessary precautions, Molly," Remus answered. "The bones were in a closet. They're not...it's not natural for bones to be this clean. I think..." he paused. "Listen, I think whoever it was, they were -- they were fed to something."

The faces around him were pale. Mundungus Fletcher put down his bowl of stew and pushed it away slowly. The twins looked slightly green. 

"The snake," Harry said quietly. Molly turned to look at him. "I bet it was the snake."

"We've got to go back there," Mad-Eye said. "Who knows what else they left behind."

"I don't think -- " Molly began, but Remus shook his head.

"If only to defuse any other traps. Muggles can see the house again now. Won't be long before someone goes investigating. We need to find out who owns it, if it's a Muggle."

"Dangerous," Mad-Eye grunted. "I'm coming along."

"Then Molly's not going back to her area alone."

"There's nothing more to see," Molly sighed. "Dead end."

"You're sure?"

"Never saw a less magical place in my life," Mad-Eye confirmed. Remus rubbed a hand over his face, tiredly.

"I need to eat," he said finally. "Then we'll go back. Molly, will you stay here and look after Severus?"

"Of course, the poor man," Molly said. Fred snorted.

"Tonks, stay put. Have Molly take a look at you. See a Healer if you have to," he said.

"No fight here," she replied. "The longer I sit the more I feel like I got run down by a hippogriff."

He smiled and reached out to pull one last piece of rubbish out of her hair. "Get yourself a wash."

"Boss' orders," she said, with a grin at Harry and the twins as she rose. "When you go back, let Mad-Eye go first," she continued. "He's got into the habit of surviving."

"So've I," Remus replied. "Don't worry, we'll be safe."

She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, much to his embarrassment and surprise. "Don't fall through any ceilings," she said affectionately.


	5. Chapter 5

With glint of iron in his eyes,   
But never doubt, nor yet surprise,   
Appeared, and stayed, and held his head   
As one by kings accredited.  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

"I'm trusting your eyes, Moody," Remus said, as they walked along the graveyard path towards the Riddle house. "I'd like very much not to die today."

"Aye, I know," Moody said, with a sideways grin. He looked up at the house, and nodded to himself. "May as well get started. We'll clean as we go?"

"More or less." Remus pushed the front door in, and led the older man to the kitchen. Moody tsked to himself as they stepped inside.

"A right mess been made here," he said. "And a smell."

"I wonder whose blood it is," Remus murmured. "I'll clear the counters."

He raised his wand and managed to get out "Scourgi -- " before Moody clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Just a moment, there," he said sternly. "I wasn't done looking yet."

Remus nodded, and watched as Moody picked up a long-handled wooden spoon, one of the few that wasn't too dirty. Poking with the broad end, he pushed some of the plates into the sink at the end, and shoved others away from or around a series of glass jars and bowls. Finally, he stepped back. 

An array of potions ingredients now sat on the counter before them, previously hidden by the mess of rotting food and filthy plates. Remus reached out and picked up a pestle, resting in a large wooden bowl. He took a pinch of the powder in the bowl and sniffed it.

"Hypericum," he said. 

"Aye. And Valerian," Moody agreed, picking up another jar. "And Bezoar, and nettles...and..."

He picked up a jar, lifting the lid slightly. Remus felt his chest seize up, his throat close off. He choked and stumbled backwards, mouth working, until Moody slid the lid back on, and waved a filthy towel to clear the air of the scent.

"Aconite," Remus gasped, muscles relaxing again. "It's Aconite."

"Is it now," Moody replied.

"Merlin," Remus breathed, clutching his chest. "You could have checked another way than trying to kill me, you know."

"Keeps you on your toes," Moody said, with a grim smile. "It's toxic to you in powdered form."

"Causes an allergic reaction in all werewolves."

"And yet...with proper preparation..."

Remus' eyes widened as he examined the jars again. "Hypericum, Valerian, Bezoar, nettles, Aconite, and Lycium."

Moody reached into the cupboard above the jars, and took down a stoppered bottle. "Bone infusion," he read. The liquid inside the bottle was a cloudy beige colour. He hefted the only other thing in the cupboard, a sealed canister. "And finally we have...horseradish. Hm. What's 'kosher' mean?"

"They're very simple ingredients," Remus muttered, ignoring the question. "It's the measurement and the infusions you've got to get right. That's the really tricky bit."

"And what potion does this make?" Moody asked, as if he were teaching a private lecture.

"Wolfsbane potion," Remus replied. 

"The common name for Aconite."

"They wouldn't need to take the ingredients along with them. They're not expensive, by and large."

"So why do you think," Moody asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has need of a potion to keep werewolves under control?"

***

By the time they returned to Headquarters -- gritty, dusty, and exhausted from the effort of defusing half a dozen traps and cleaning the refuse out of several rooms -- the sun had already set, and most of the Order had checked in and gone home for the evening. 

"That's everyone but Kingsley, and Arabella said he was going straight home, so he's off," George said. "Am I glad you're back. Snape's been insufferable all afternoon."

"Up and about then, is he? Ta, Molly," Remus said, accepting a damp cloth from Molly Weasley and cleaning his face with it.

"Up, anyway. Was making us wait on him hand and foot," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "Finally George cast a silencing spell outside his room, so he couldn't yell for us anymore."

"I fear for your future wives," Remus said, through the cloth. "What're you going to tell him when he asks?"

"That we put it there so that our footsteps outside his door wouldn't bother him," George replied with a grin. Remus sighed.

"I'll wait until morning to talk to him, then," he said. "How's Tonks?"

The boys shrugged. "She went upstairs a while ago, said she was going to Owl the Ministry about taking a few days off. And not to bother her. Harry checked on her -- didn't you, Harry?"

Harry, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich, nodded. "No answer when I knocked, but she did say she was going to try to sleep. Mrs. Weasley gave her a potion."

"Just to get her to sleep," Molly added. "You look like you could use one, too. Find anything else at the Riddle house?"

"Lots of traps. Moody's eye came in very handy, in that respect. We got rid of anything that might look suspicious."

Moody, tromping in the doorway with a crate under one arm, gave them all a nod, and vanished into the back of the house.

"Molly, I think I need to talk to you and Arthur privately," Remus said quietly. "We found some...disturbing evidence."

"Evidence of wh -- oh. Of course," Molly said, as Remus gave Harry and the twins a significant look. "We can talk in the kitchen...ARTHUR!"

"YES, DEAR?" Arthur's voice drifted through a window. Molly leaned through it. 

"Arthur, stop fiddling with Harry's motorbike and come in here," she scolded. "I swear," she added, to Remus, "that man's more excited about it than Harry is."

"I don't think anyone could be more excited about it than Harry is," Remus replied. Arthur walked inside, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag, and smiled.

"Remus needed to talk to us," Molly said. "About what they found at the Riddle house."

"Hope it was more than the absolute zero we found," Arthur said cheerfully. Remus leaned against the wall, and shook his head.

"We found potions ingredients," he said. "Left behind. Measures for a Wolfsbane potion."

Arthur blinked. "A wolfsbane potion? But..."

"...I know."

"The whole thing doesn't make sense," Molly said. "Why would they leave? And even if they left, why wouldn't they come back for the things they left behind?" 

"Possibly they thought we were watching the place. I think they must have gone after...after the trouble at the Ministry..." Remus said slowly. "They took nearly everything."

"Except the skeleton," Molly said, with a shiver.

"And the potion ingredients," Remus sighed. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord would allow werewolves in his inner circle..."

"Why else would he have it?" Arthur asked. 

"I don't know. Those were the only ingredients...there's not much else can be made with them, as far as I know, though I'll check with Severus when he's...feeling better."

"They wouldn't let werewolves in," Molly said thoughtfully. "Not as conspirators, I mean. But demented animals would make good foot soldiers. Good cannon fodder," she added. "And if you had to have them about -- as bodyguards, maybe -- well, you'd have to keep them tame somehow."

Remus felt a dim horror creep over him, not so much for the idea of Death Eaters using werewolves, but for the idea of the werewolves, drugged into submission by wolfsbane... 

"Feral werewolves can shift anytime they like, can't they?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sure I heard that somewhere."

"If he was planning to recruit feral werewolves...like he did the giants..." Remus said, the disgust mounting. "He'd want to be able to...to offer it to them? Or slip it to them in order to keep them under control..."

"Either way, we'd better find out if they're still going to try for it, and fast," Arthur said. Remus was still awash in horror at the idea, and didn't respond. 

"Remus...?" Molly asked. He shook his head, to clear it.

"I'll deal with it," he said. 

"I could ask in the Ministry -- "

"No, Arthur," Remus said. He gave them a tired smile. "I know what to do. I'll start work on it tomorrow."

Arthur gave him an uncertain look, but smiled and clapped him on the arm anyway.

"Get some rest, then. I'm going to make Harry show me how the petrol tank works again," he added, passing into the living room. Remus walked to the window, over the sink, and stared out at the motorbike. 

"You should eat, too," Molly said. "You're far too thin."

"I was hungry until about ten seconds ago," he said, fingers curling around the smooth white porcelain rim of the sink. "Now I think I'm just going to sleep for a while. Are you staying here tonight, you and Arthur?"

"I think so. In case there's trouble at all. I have a feeling Severus will need more looking-after than Ron and Ginny would."

Remus smiled. "I have a feeling you're right, Molly." He turned away from the window. "I'll be in my room. Going to try to sleep. Wake me if Severus gets troublesome, or if Tonks needs anything."

"Of course," Molly said reassuringly, and he left her in the kitchen, walking slowly up the stairs to his rooms. He stopped outside the door and listened intently; then, smiling, he pushed it open, and locked it behind him. The door between the study and the bedroom was open, and he could see his bed, an unexpected red blanket on the top of it, and an only-slightly-unexpected figure curled up underneath it. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and felt the top of the blanket; as he'd expected, it had a warming charm on it. At least she wouldn't be too stiff tomorrow. 

"Din't want to sleep in my bed," she mumbled, into the pillow. "Din't smell right."

"Smell right?" he asked, brushing a corner of the blanket away from her face.

"Smelled musty," she said. "Wanted your bed."

"That's fine. I'll sleep on the couch, I do that often enough. Do you want anything? Another sleeping potion?"

"Stay," she ordered, shifting a little. A wince crossed her face. "Sleep here."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"M'fine."

"You had a nasty fall."

"Don't make me wake up," she said drowsily. "I'll yell at you if I do."

"All right," he said, loosening his collar. He undressed, finding a crumpled pair of pyjama bottoms near the foot of the bed. She didn't make it easy on him; he had to slide past her on the small bed, and slip awkwardly under the blanket. 

She sighed a little as he curled carefully against her and wrapped one arm around her waist. 

"How did it go with Moody?" she asked.

"I'll tell you in the morning."

"He didn't get fresh, did he?"

Remus laughed. "No, my dear Dora, unless you count giving me a heart attack in the name of 'eternal vigilance'."

"Mm?"

"We found some ingredients for a Wolfsbane potion. The Death Eaters might be using werewolves..."

"Awful."

"I agree. I'm going to send Moody back tomorrow to look around the village. I have a suspicion that I'd like verified."

"You going with him?"

"No, I have other things to attend to. If you're feeling all right in the morning, you might go."

She shifted again, and her hand touched his, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin on his knuckles. 

"You're in no shape for our hobby tonight," he said into her hair -- shorter than it had been earlier, but still bright red. 

"It wasn't that far," she muttered. "Ten feet at most."

"You fell through a ceiling."

"Flesh wound."

"Dora, you need to sleep," he whispered. 

"I know," she sighed. "Remus..."

"Mmm?"

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

He laughed. "Very much. You know that."

"Do you miss me when I'm not here?"

"Of...of course. Why?"

He heard warm satisfaction in her voice. "Just wondering," she replied. 

***

Remus Lupin did not need to be told about feral werewolves by anyone. 

By the age of ten he was well-versed in what little was published on the subject, not to mention being more knowledgeable about communicable diseases of the blood than most medical students. His father had taken him to countless conferences, universities, and hospitals in his quest for a cure; it always amused Remus, and honed his sense of irony to a fine point, to see his tall, burly father, a rural farmer in patched corduroys and a broad-brimmed leather hat, talking hematopathology with learned doctors and scientists. 

He'd studied the feral werewolves, as he grew up; men and women who ran in packs and lived like wild animals even during the days they weren't wolves -- they were rumoured to be able to Change at will and far less painfully, but he felt that this was farfetched. Once in a while he considered joining them, but he'd never been one for camping, really.

There were two packs in Britain -- at least, two that anyone knew about. There had been three, once. 

He considered the bag before him. It was just big enough to suit his needs, but small enough to be easily carried. This did not leave a lot of room for things like changes of trousers, books, and food. Perhaps a second bag for food. 

He wouldn't need too many clothes; he didn't plan on dressing to impress. He picked up a roll of parchment, quill and ink, and put them in the side pocket; in the main compartment he neatly and efficiently packed a few items of clothing, and after some deliberation, one of the books on ferals, from his vast library on lycanthropy. He also decanted a month's worth of Wolfsbane potion into a vial and added it, wrapped in a worn, threadbare shirt, to the bag. 

He surveyed the desk, and his fingers drifted across a small leather case.

It had been a gift from Dumbledore, on his birthday one year; it wasn't a wallet so much as a place to keep things he valued. There was a photo of himself and Sirius and James, taken by Peter their final year at Hogwarts; one of Harry, taken last summer, and one of Dumbledore, Arthur, and Tonks, also from last summer. Various others. A punched ticket from the Hogwarts Express. A rusty key that had once fit a lock in the Shrieking Shack.

He reached over to another pile and dug through it deftly, coming up with a small stack of photos that Arthur had passed on to him just two days ago, of Harry's birthday party. There he was with Tonks, Harry beaming in front of them, over his first ever proper birthday cake. 

They could be a family, he thought, with a small smile. If one of them wasn't a werewolf, and one of them wasn't an orphan, and one of them wasn't going to rend him limb from limb if she found out where he was going. 

He stuffed the photo into an empty pocket in the case, and tossed it into the open bag. 

There was a stirring in the other room, and he pulled the blanket on the couch over, covering the bag. Tonks was sliding out of the bed carefully, rubbing her left shoulder.

"Sore this morning?" he asked, leaning in the doorway. She smiled and walked forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands went automatically -- almost instinctively -- to her waist. 

"Not as much as I thought I'd be," she said. "I feel fine. Must have been a good potion Molly gave me."

"Glad to hear it," he replied, moving with her as she stepped forward into the sunny study. He would not look at the bag, hidden under a blanket on the couch. He would not tip her off...

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, kissing his jaw. He felt a twinge of guilt.

"I'm...well," he replied. 

"You were right about last night," she said, pulling him a little closer. "I wasn't in any shape to do much of anything. But I've the next few days off, courtesy of falling through a ceiling..."

He let her kiss him, let her tongue slide against his lips and even kissed back, as her hands rubbed the sensitive parts of his neck and her body pressed so...close...

"Tonks, I really don't know if this is the ideal -- unh..." He grunted as she pushed him gently onto the couch. "Not that I don't -- oh..."

She really could do the most amazing things with her tongue. 

Then she shifted, slightly, and he heard the papers in his bag rattle as her hip bumped against it. She paused and leaned back.

"What on earth..." she asked, flipping the blanket back before he could stop her. "Why do you..."

She took in the clothing, the few toiletries and the careful packing, and turned back to him. "I didn't know you were going traveling," she said, almost laughingly. "Are you eloping?"

"No...no..." he said, not meeting her eyes. "There's some...business for the Order I have to see to."

"You're not taking much," she said, pulling out the book. He winced as she read the title, then looked up at him. He knew he looked guilty. He knew she understood.

"Ferals," she whispered. "You're going to find the ferals, aren't you?" she asked, looking down again at the book. 

"Yesterday in the Riddle house..." he said, trying to focus on this and not the feeling of her straddling his lap. "If they're trying to recruit the ferals..."

"Who's going with you?" she asked.

"No one. They'd attack a human, Tonks, you ought to know that."

"You're going alone. To talk to a pack of feral werewolves," she said, her voice growing more dangerous by the second.

"Someone has to," he said helplessly. She leaned back and slid off the couch, rising to pace in the room. "I'm the only qualified -- "

"I don't believe you. If Death Eaters can talk to them, we can," she snapped. "Were you leaving this morning?"

"I planned on it. I was going to tell Fred and George -- "

"Fred and George?" 

"Yes, so they'd know where I'd gone. You see, this is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to see me leaving," he said, standing and running a hand through his hair. 

"Because you knew we'd try to talk some sense into you? At least take someone along with you!"

"They won't trust me -- "

"They won't KILL YOU either!"

He scowled. "Keep your voice down, do you want to wake the whole house?"

"As a matter of fact, that's not a bad idea!"

"Listen to me. Tonks. Dora. Listen to me," he said, grabbing her wrist. She looked down at it, and then back at him. He let go, slowly.

"Someone has to go now and there isn't enough time to argue this out with the whole Order. I have the right to do this," he said. "And much as I would like to make you happy by dragging some other poor sod along with me, I can't. This is something I have to do alone if it's going to end well."

"And what if it doesn't end well?" she demanded.

"Then the Order goes on," he said grimly. She stared at him.

"You are the biggest...fool...idiot..." she managed. "If you were Severus Snape I'd slap you."

"Well, I'm not. I'm Remus Lupin. I'm a werewolf, do you get that? I am not a human. I am a werewolf," he snarled. "And I have lived around people who are just like me and yet completely alien for my entire life. So even if I didn't have to be the one to go, I would still be the one, because they are my kin, no matter how much I dislike them. No matter how violent or primitive they are. They are my blood."

"And what about us? We're just humans, is that it? We don't matter?"

"Don't put those words in my mouth, Tonks. Not in mine. You don't get to tell me that I hate anyone, because I've been hated and reviled by humans for longer than you've been alive."

She stared at him, open mouthed.

"So yes. I am going to the ferals. I am going to try to stop them from becoming what Molly so charmingly referred to as 'cannon fodder' for the Death Eaters. You don't have to like it but you do have to accept it. I'll pull rank on you if I have to, Tonks. I will be Remus Lupin for the Order and give you your marching papers."

He stopped, and took a deep breath. She was still staring.

"And what about Remus Lupin who went out and got so drunk he couldn't stand," she said slowly, "And begged me...begged me not to stop touching him? What about Remus Lupin who has shared my bed almost every night for the past two weeks?"

He reached over and closed the bag with a snap. "Don't make me remind you, Tonks, that you called all that a hobby."

"Fuck you," she growled. "It was more than that and you know it."

"Was it?" he asked.

"I don't know where you've been the past two weeks, but in case you hadn't noticed, I am falling in love with you, Remus. In case your mind has been on Order business," she said, sharply, "You have been falling in love with me, too. And you know it."

"Don't tell me who I love," he replied. "It's been two weeks, Tonks. Two weeks is barely enough time to know a person -- "

"How long have we known each other? A year? A year and a half? You don't think that part of it counts for anything?"

"I am not going to yell about this with you," he said calmly. "I have a train to catch."

"They'll kill you!"

"They won't kill me," he said, tightening the reins on his temper. "They didn't last time."

"Last time?" she demanded. 

"When they made me what I am," he said, quietly. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He wondered idly if he should kiss her, and almost moved to do it, but at the last minute he saw her preparing to step away, and he shook his head. "Tell the Order where I've gone."

"I could call the others and we'd stop you."

"Or you could be an adult," he said reasonably, "and let me go."

He didn't turn to see her face -- he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. He let the door swing shut behind him, and heard a noise that sounded vaguely like someone catching their breath.

It might even have been him.

***

The journey wasn't too trying; he could have Apparated, but he needed the travel time to get his thoughts in order, and plan how he would speak to the pack when he arrived. He'd rarely met other werewolves, and never dealt with more than one at a time; he knew a little about how the pack worked, but not nearly enough to be confident he wouldn't offend. 

They lived in the few wild places left in Britain, migrating like gypsies when the seasons changed, moving to caves in the winter, forests in the summer. How they maintained their packs was a mystery, but people had theorised about willing members, who would either bear werewolf children or become werewolves themselves...

A werewolf had a one in four chance of their child being a lycanthrope, if the other parent was human. It was a recessive gene in humans, and the old 'pureblood' wizarding families, the Blacks and Malfoys and the like, made sure that nobody marrying into the family carried it. A child of two carriers could be human; a child of two werewolves hadn't a chance in the world.

Ilyssa -- the woman he'd wanted to marry, ten years past -- Ilyssa had been from an old pureblood family, a distant cousin of Lucius Malfoy. He'd known that her family would not want her marrying a carrier, especially an active one, but he hadn't thought she would feel so violently about it herself. He'd thought they could hide it from her family together...

But that rejection was more than ten years past, and the memory barely stung. Ilyssa had at least promised to keep his secret. Not that it mattered, now. Everyone knew now. 

He turned back to his notes, ignoring his memories. 

Feral werewolves didn't usually come near humans; they didn't have to. They had a pack, and they were wolfborn -- wolfborns had more control than those who'd been bitten. They were said to be able to change seamlessly, any time they liked. The idea had appealed to him as a young man, but he hadn't thought either of the packs would even want him, and a feral had done this to him -- a wild feral from a pack had bitten him...

He rubbed the outside of his left thigh, where he still carried a dark scar from the bite. Werewolves healed quickly...unless the injury was inflicted by another werewolf. 

The scenery flew by, outside the window; fields and towns, highways, rivers. Inhabited by Muggles, mostly; the Wizarding population of the world was really quite small comparatively. A world hidden within a world. And his world hidden within that one. Two degrees separate from the life that happened on the other side of the train window. 

He had lived apart for so long. By choice, because it was too hard, facing the constant fear of being discovered. By necessity, because he was what he was. 

And then blasted Tonks came along and didn't get offended when he didn't react to her and didn't stop trying to kiss him and didn't run away...

Well. That was probably over now, all things considered. 

Loved him. Ridiculous. She was young, that was some explanation. Didn't know her own heart. He'd been about that age when Ilyssa -- 

He slammed his hand down on the table, startling himself. 

And then there was the possibility that what she wanted wasn't even remotely close to what he thought, that she'd been manipulating him -- he wouldn't be the first to be taken in by a young, pretty woman...

This was getting him nowhere.

He'd speak to the ferals and he'd ensure that they knew what the Dark Lord meant, and then he'd come back to Headquarters and sort things out. He was exceptionally good at sorting things out. Tonks was Auror trained. She was a professional, she'd take his orders no matter what she thought of him. She wouldn't make trouble. 

He'd been alone for a long time. The yawning pit in his stomach would close up, he was sure, once he got used to the idea again.

***

It would have defeated the purpose of having summer grounds if they were easy to get to. 

It took him most of the day just to get to the small, rural town that, by the smell of it, was probably raided by the pack on a regular basis. He could see their marks everywhere. He paid a few Muggle pounds for a small room on the second floor of the only pub he could find, and struck up a conversation with the barman over dinner, which consisted mainly of pushing food around on a plate and trying to convince himself he'd eaten anything.

"Don't get many strangers passing through round now," the barman said, sliding a glass of beer down the counter to him. He sipped and gestured with his fork. 

"Seems like you'd get a lot of campers."

"Nah, not in these parts. Woods're too rough. Bit wild. Locals don't go into 'em."

"I'm not surprised," Remus murmured. 

"Get a bunch round Christmas holiday. Got a holiday fair. Yule festival."

Remus nodded. All sorts of strange Muggle interpretations of old Wizarding holidays cropped up in the little towns like this one. Rolling flaming wheels down hills and whatnot. There was probably a paper in that somewhere. 

"What's your business in town?" the man asked, leaning on the bar. Remus shrugged.

"Looking for some family of mine," he said quietly, sipping the beer. 

"Got kin around here?"

"I think so."

The man cocked his head, and looked at him closely. "Don't look like any of my regulars," he said with a grin. "Got a name?"

"Mine?"

"Nah. Of your kin."

"Oh. No...not a name. Just a trail to follow."

"Good luck in that, mate."

Remus tapped his fingers on the bar, thoughtfully. "Tell me...do you get much trouble with the wildlife around here?"

"No more than normal, I reckon. Keep chains on the rubbish cans, stay in town after dark. Get some big predators this time of the year. Nother reason we don't get many campers," the man added with a toothy grin. Remus, making an effort, smiled back over the rim of his glass. 

"Thanks for the food," he said. "Put it on my room."

"Hardly ate nothin."

"Wasn't very hungry," he said. 

"Listen, you look like a man needs a hand. If I can help you find your kin at all, you let me know."

Remus shook his head. "You already have," he said quietly.

It was early evening still, but there wasn't anything to do in town and the barman had made it very clear that going walking alone in the woods at night was a bad idea. Perhaps not for him -- a werewolf wouldn't attack him, even if he looked human, of that he was sure -- but all the same, better to be wise...

There was a small desk and a rickety chair in the room, and he wished that he'd brought more books; anything to distract him from the darkening sky outside and his own thoughts. He slept early, and even in his dreams he couldn't escape.

***

Remus woke to the sensation that someone was attempting to murder him with an extremely heavy feather duster.

The scent of owl invaded his nostrils, and he raised an arm, batting the large snowy bird away from his face. It nipped his wrist and clubbed him across the ear with a wing. 

"Geroff already, I'm awake!" he cried, and the bird settled onto his chest, claws gripping the fabric of his pyjama shirt. It gave him an innocently inquiring look, but didn't move when he pushed himself onto his elbows.

"Hedwig, what on Earth..." he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. She must have picked the latch on the window. She hooted and picked up a piece of folded parchment that she'd apparently dropped on his blanket, placing it in his hand. 

"All right, all right -- I haven't got any food," he said, grouchily, laying the letter on the table. "There's bound to be mice around."

She hooted disdainfully and picked up the letter again, urging it into his palm. He sighed, and sat up, unfolding it. 

_Dear Remus,_

_I hope you're well wherever you are. They're saying you've gone off to do some work for the Order, but nobody seems very happy about it. Dumbledore says as long as you're being stupid about things you "might as well try to recruit them for our side." Well, he says the second part. Tonks mostly says the first part. He didn't say to me who They are but I hope you're being careful, They don't sound very nice. He asked me to write to you._

_If you need help, send a message back with Hedwig. I think I've really got the hang of the motorbike now. Dumbledore also says to read the other page. He says Do It._

_Come back safe, I've had just about enough of people not._

_Harry_

Remus rubbed his fingers on the parchment, and a second page peeled off the first. It was older, but well-preserved; Sirius' scrawling, untidy handwriting. 

It wasn't that Sirius didn't know how to use punctuation, he thought with a small smile, it was just that he couldn't be bothered if he knew that anyone reading it would understand it anyhow. 

_Dear Moony_

_Things are wicked here got the bike fixed next time dont shift so hard eh? Think youre making a mistake me lad about going off to see That Git. I dont trust that hes really on our side and I think hes trying to recruit you so keep a level head about yourself. Last thing Our People need is two spies. I tell you fair theres suspicion about so just watch yourself Moony. I dont like it either but we cant be too careful and Id hate to have to kill you cos you know too much hahahaha._

_Got to trust people anyhow sometime eh? But remember were family and we fight like it too. I mean were family and look at mine. I mean itll all turn out right in the end wont it?_

_yr_   
_Pads_

He furrowed his brow. What on earth was Dumbledore on about, sending him some idiot letter from years and years ago -- the first inkling he'd had that anyone thought he might be the spy. Because he was working too closely with their mole in the Death Eaters -- Dumbledore'd made him do it, since he had a soft touch and you needed that when working with Severus Snape, who in those days was a bundle of nerves and suspicious of everyone. At least this time around Snape had his precious martyrdom to keep him calm. 

_Remember we're family and we fight like it too..._

He wished, just once, that Albus Dumbledore could say a thing outright.

He stuffed the letters into the bag, adding the book and the wolfsbane potion. He wouldn't need to bring his clothing; he didn't suspect he'd be invited to stay overnight with the pack, if he could even find them. He tossed his wand into the bag too. 

Hedwig nipped his fingers as he did up the clasps on the bag, and he sighed. "Fine, all right," he said, tearing off a corner of the parchment on the desk, and scribbling a quick note. 

_Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell_

He paused.

_Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell Dumbledore I'll do as he says._

He folded it, tucked the end under, and handed it to Hedwig, who bobbed her head, satisfied.

"Harry or Dumbledore, Hedwig. Take it to Harry or Dumbledore," he said, and she fluttered away. 

He bought breakfast from a bakery that was just opening as he stepped into the street; he wasn't particularly hungry, but he would be by afternoon. Especially if the pack's grounds were as far back in the wild as he suspected they would be. 

He had no inkling of how to track them, only what he'd picked up in books and could see with his own eyes -- what he could smell, if he stood still long enough. He could smell and hear better than most humans, though normally in cities there was enough...enough background smells, and sights, and sounds, that it didn't matter. 

He walked out of town in a vaguely southward direction, on the main road, which ran parallel to the train tracks, a series of small hills on his right. When the road turned west into the hills, so did he; bag bumping against his back, shoes crunching on the gravel by the side of the road, hair ruffled by the wind. It was not quite high summer, and the day was warm. On any other day, he might have enjoyed this walk. 

_Remember we're family and we fight like it too..._

But in the end, in the last days before Voldemort's fall, even Sirius had suspected him. Because he wasn't family. He was an outsider. Nothing -- not being Harry's guardian-in-name, not being Tonks'...not being whatever he was to Tonks, not being Arthur's friend or Dumbledore's protege, was going to change that. Which was fine. After all, in the end he'd suspected Sirius, too. And he was suspecting Tonks even now. 

What had he said to Tonks...you pretend things are all right. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending.

He reached a river around two in the afternoon, and stopped to wash some of the road dust from his hands and face. The pack would probably keep to the river; he couldn't smell them above the water, but he could see animal tracks on the far side.

The river ran north-south, and he was heading west; on either side were muddy banks and long stretches of high-grown grass, and southward, he could see the smudge of trees where the forest began near the base of the hills. 

Towards the trees, then. 

He'd been walking for perhaps half an hour, still in the tall grass though the other side had long since given way to the trees, when he felt eyes on him.

Standing across the river, staring at him from behind a tree trunk, was a woman. She ducked back when he turned, but he saw her hand slide around the trunk. He let the bag fall from his shoulder and crouched in the tall grass.

After a moment, she peered out again. He tilted his head, waiting for her to get his scent across the rushing water, if she could. She mouthed a word he couldn't hear. 

He left his bag under a nearby shrub and stood, slowly taking off his shoes. He'd have to leave his wand behind; they mightn't trust him otherwise.

The woman vanished, but he continued to methodically roll up his trouser legs. The water was chilly when he stepped into it, but shallow enough that he could get across on submerged rocks and gravelly banks, if he was careful. 

Two different women had appeared in the space of time it took him to reach the middle. They were watching his progress in amusement. It took him a moment to realise that they were, for the most part, naked.

When he smiled at them, careful not to bare his teeth, there were two loud cracks -- someone had taught them to Disapparate.

The current of the river pulled a little to the southwest, and he realised that it curved, not far away, and vanished into the trees. They'd probably made camp at a bend in the river -- defended on two sides by that and a third by the mountains. At least they had some sense.

His bare feet sank into the earth on the far bank, and he turned to look back. 

Well. Into the forest, then. 

As he walked he found his eyes adjusting to the way things were, here; to seeing the little paths that animals made, the crushed grass where some large creature had slept the night before. Twigs cut into his legs, but the cuts healed almost instantly. Leaf-cover scratched the soles of his feet. 

He sniffed again, far enough from the water now to smell it. Someone was close by -- on his right. Tracking him. He stopped.

"Let's not play games," he said quietly. There was the crack of a Disapparation, and then a second crack on his left. "I'm not here to be hunted."

"Why are you here?" asked a voice. 

"I've come to speak with the pack."

"What, all of them?" asked another voice, amused. He rubbed his jaw. 

"Or your Alpha, if you have one."

There was a snarl, hastily cut off, and one of the women from before stepped out from the darkness. She wore a strip of fabric tied around her waist, mainly preserving her dignity, and a cord around her neck. And that was all.

"You may call me Mother," she said. He raised an eyebrow. 

"Thank you, Mother," he replied. "My name is -- "

She held a finger to her lips, and shook her head. "Tell the Alpha," she said. "I don't care."

Well, at least they were honest.

He followed her across another animal-track, weaving through the trees. She made less noise than he, but then she would be used to this land. He trailed her, occasionally wondering just how far their territory extended -- certainly not beyond one side of the river -- when they emerged into another meadow. 

His eyes widened, and he drew a sharp breath. The meadow was dappled with the mid-afternoon sun, and the colours stood out vividly; the green of the grass, dark soil beneath it, trees in the distance, water nearby. And the meadow was filled with creatures.

There were wolves lying in the long grass. He saw them raise their heads as the woman led him forward, and saw the faintest hints of snarls before their nostrils flared. When they caught his scent, the vicious violence all Changed werewolves instinctively felt for humans turned to...puzzlement.

 _Looks human-shaped,_ he could see them thinking. _Doesn't smell like it though._

After all the rumours about feral abilities...he'd never thought that it would be like this. Two women sat chatting, one of them stringing strange, bone-coloured beads on twine. A man arrived from the direction of the trees, carrying a basket, followed by two wolves. Children, running naked, played around the legs of a tolerant female wolf, who occasionally snapped gently if one of them got out of line. None of them wore much in the way of clothing, and the children wore nothing at all. 

The woman led him toward a stocky, black-haired man, wrapped in what looked like a deerhide. He lay in the tall grass, reading a book, his head propped on the back of a sleeping wolf. He sat up slowly, and Remus could imagine the sight; in the midst of naked and half-naked men and women, not to mention the wolves, he must look terribly out of place in his white shirt and brown waistcoat, his rolled-up brown trousers.

"Thank you, Mother," the man said, and the woman nodded, leaving them alone. The man reached around and prodded the wolf behind him, who whined but rose and shook herself, trotting away. 

"You smell like the city," the man said, crossing his legs and laying the book aside. "Sit, if you will."

Remus nodded and sat, imitating the other man's posture. He was careful not to look him in the eyes.

"You'll have a name, of course," the man continued. "You're not a pack-runner. Not a...feral," he said, rich humour in his voice.

"Remus Lupin," said the city wolf, quietly. 

"We do not have names in the pack. We have no need," the man said. "You may call me Alpha," he added.

"Thank you, Alpha."

"There are many reasons a man like yourself comes to a pack," Alpha said, ruminatively. "You have not come accidentally to the Summergrounds. You are too old to want to leave your family and become a packrunner. Too young to wish to die amongst your own kind. And not quite big enough to challenge me for leadership. You have nothing to sell which we wish, or are able, to purchase. We have no materials you could desire."

"You're quick to take measure," said Remus.

"I find I must be," Alpha replied. "We have nothing tangible to give you. But you haven't come for tangible goods." He cocked his head. "I'm afraid I'm not good at small talk," he said with a toothy grin.

"I've come from London." Remus plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between his fingers. "From the wizards there."

"A wizard too, are you?"

"I am."

"I lived in that world for a while, when I was a young man. Tell me, do they still ban us from drinking at the same bars as human wizards?"

"Not in written law. It was repealed about ten years ago." If he remembered rightly, Dumbledore'd had a hand in that. "But ten years isn't very long, for some things."

"Ah. Even worse."

Remus winced, slightly, and Alpha outright laughed.

"And you think we're the barbarians," he said, leaning back. "The monsters."

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you thought it. All the city wolves do. The humans do. Muggle and wizard."

"I didn't know enough about you to say that."

"Yes...yes, and that's the way we like it," Alpha agreed. "So tell me why you're here, Interloper."

Remus tilted his head. Alpha shook his own. 

"When you are in the pack, you are named by the pack. Why should I call you by human names? I don't obey human rules."

"You read their books, though," Remus said, nodding at the slim volume sitting beside Alpha's thigh.

"Well, I didn't say they're entirely stupid," Alpha replied, fingering the blue-bound volume. "We take what we need from the humans down the village. Including, in case you wanted to confirm the rumours, their men and women."

Remus stared, and Alpha burst out laughing.

"For the pack, Interloper, not for food. We've enough of that. And most come willingly, you know. But you're not here to study us. You're here to ask me for something."

"There's a war coming," Remus said earnestly. "You know of the Dark Lord."

"I've heard news on the howl of his coming. He's sent people to speak to us. The last ones even got away with their lives." Alpha shook his head. "I was a child when last he came this way himself."

"We're fighting him. Myself and my..."

"Soldiers?"

"My friends."

"Hm. Very little difference, much of the time."

"We found out that the Dark Lord wanted you," Remus continued. "And I came to warn you."

Alpha shook his head. "It won't do. From the goodness of your heart you risked walking among ferals? City wolves fear us too much."

"I was also sent to ask you to join us, if you can."

"Don't want us fighting for him, but fighting for you is all right, is that it?"

"We don't treat people as though they're disposable," Remus said. "He does. He doesn't want you fighting because he admires werewolves. He wants you fighting because he doesn't have to care if you die."

Alpha laughed again. "Interloper, you're not as smart as you look. Why should we help you?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Because your survival depends on his defeat, and so does mine."

"So you say."

"I'm not going to sit here and justify my reasons to you," Remus said, sharply. "You'd know it's right if you gave it any thought."

"Oh, but I have given it thought." Alpha fixed him with keen green eyes, and he glanced down quickly; to have met them would have been to give a challenge, and Alpha was right -- he wasn't big enough to win. "And what I think is this: we're fine here. We have family. We don't need humans. Humans are what forced us into the wilds in the first place, in my great-grandalpha's time."

"That's not true and you know it. If Wizarding society -- "

"Indeed," said Alpha, gravely. Remus began to feel just slightly frustrated -- and as though it was his status in Wizarding society that Alpha was attacking, instead of the wizards themselves.

"Listen, we're trying to stop the sort of people who keep werewolves out of Wizarding society. Muggle-haters and people who think only about purity of blood. People who loathe the sight of you. Of me. People who want to get rid of werewolves altogether. And if they win, they'll come for you next, and next time they won't want you to join them, they'll just want you to die."

"Let them try. We're stronger," Alpha said assuredly.

"You have no magical education -- no schools of philosophy or art, no high society -- "

"You see? You do think we're barbarians."

Remus rubbed his forehead as Alpha picked up a thick, club-handled walking stick. 

"Do you see my cubs?" he asked, pointing to three small, naked children, drumming apparently aimlessly on a tree stump. "They're learning sticktalk. They drum to speak to each other, and we use it across forests. When they're older, they'll learn the old epics. Do you know any of the old epics?"

"Which ones?" Remus asked.

"Our epics. Our blood stories. The tusk-hunters, the African wild dogs, the Firemakers, the Split Creator. No, I can see in your face. You come to me and say we have no art, no philosophy, when you're ignorant of your own blood heritage." Alpha spat. "Can you change at the height of noon? Can you run in a pack? Have you once, ever?"

"I was made what I am by a pack-runner," Remus said bitterly. "When I was seven."

"And your family, what did they do?"

"My father and mother took Muggle rifles, and silver bullets. They hunted down the one who bit me while the Healers were bandaging my wounds. And then my father called the Aurors and they killed the rest. They wiped out a pack the size of yours. It never recovered."

And that had been the final reason Remus Lupin had never dared go to the ferals before; his parents had destroyed the third pack in Britain. 

Alpha looked grave. "More territory for the rest of us," he said, as if he could read Remus' thoughts clearly. "If the pack who ran on your land had been taught to stay away from humans, that wouldn't have happened. We keep our distance, and we harm no one. Life is hard, but it's pure. We have our ancestors to guide us. Who are you to say what we should and shouldn't do? Let the Dark Wizards come for us."

"You could keep that from happening."

"And what would you do with us, once a month? Lock us up as you do yourself?"

"There are potions -- it's what the Dark Lord would have used, but if you take them voluntarily -- "

"Water down your blood! No thank you," Alpha sighed. "Our answer is no, Interloper. We will not take sides in this war, his or yours. That is, usually, how we've survived. By taking no side, and making no trouble. If you knew the epics, you'd know that."

Remus rubbed his hands over his face. "There must be something you want. Something you need that we can give you. That would give you at least a little bit of trust, that would let you -- "

"Dignity in the cities," Alpha said, cutting him off. "Can you give me that if we fight for you? Even amongst those who accept you?"

Remus could have lied, but it wouldn't have done any good. "No."

"Then we have nothing more to say," Alpha stood, tapping his stick on the soft soil. Remus followed his lead. "Though when your war is over, if you survive, I should like very much to see more of you. I had forgotten how quickly a city wolf talks. And if you would stay now..." he shrugged. "Stay to see the sun set. Hear one of the epics that you've left too late to learn."

"There are people waiting for me -- "

"Are there?"

Remus paused. 

Yes. There were. Harry and Dumbledore and Tonks. Waiting for him in the world across the river. 

But they were not his blood kin. And these were.

"There were four Firemakers, in the time before consciousness, when all of us were wolves and wolves alone," Alpha said as they walked. It was hypnotic, the way he spoke. "They were the four colours of the flame -- brown wood, white hot flame, dying brindle flame, and black ash. They fought a war too, but to fight humans you have to become humans. So these four Firemakers taught themselves humanity. They learned to think like humans."

"Unlucky them," Remus murmured.

"I'm condensing it. It's better when done properly," Alpha said, slightly reproachfully. "And when the war was done, it was seen that on the battlefields the humans had built fires. Three of the Firemakers had died in the war; the brown one, who was their Alpha, and the white, who had fought too hard and had consumed himself, and the black, who had given himself over because ash can no longer burn. There was one left, a wolf the colour of the dying flame. And he picked up the fire, and brought it to the camp of his own people, our ancestors."

Remus realised that Alpha had stopped, and several others had gathered to listen as well.

"As long as fire burns for us, as long as the dying flame is not yet ash, we live as humans. We cannot let the fires go out, because we'll die of the cold, but when they are all dead, then we will be wolves again," Alpha recited. He waved a hand at the gathering. 

"Tell us we are barbarians," he said softly. "But do not tell us we are fools."

"I'd like to hear your epics," Remus replied, in the same low tone. There was a moment of silence, and then Alpha clapped him on the arm.

"Of course you would! They sing in your blood. Even if you aren't wolf-born," he cried. "Stay to the sunset, and our Speaker can tell you the story of the Split Creator. Your friends can wait a day for you to return to them."

Remus nodded slowly.

***

The evening meal was a late summer doe, dragged to camp by a couple of wolves; those in human-form skewered and cooked the steak meat, while the wolves feasted on entrails. There were also, incongruously, tins of beans and beef stew, from a stash that had apparently been taken out of the grocery in the town. 

He was an item of curiousity, but no particular interest; the children were fascinated by his clothes, but the adults barely gave him a second look -- admittedly, after a long first look. 

The Speaker was a grey-haired man in a loincloth, his face wrinkled, eyes keen, nose sharp and narrow. Remus, sitting near the fire, watched him as he threw back his head and let out a guttural cry, when the sun began to turn the sky crimson. Everyone fell silent; apparently this was not an every-day occurrence. When the Speaker spoke, even the smallest cubs stopped their squeaking yips, and the children sat very still.

He wondered if the epics were confined to this pack, or if they were shared with the other British pack, and the various feral communities on the continent. Perhaps the pack that the Aurors had destroyed, when he was seven, had known these epics. The story of the Firemakers that Alpha had told him, and now the story of the Split Creator that the Speaker was reciting, much to the delight of the others.

When the epic was finished, and the last remains of the meal had been disposed of, the Speaker found him by the fire, and grinned a gap-toothed smile. 

"What do you think, Interloper?" he asked, poking the embers with a stick.

"I've never heard anything like it," Remus replied truthfully. 

"Yes, we don't share with outsiders."

"It's a shame."

"It's a necessity."

"Well done, Speaker!" the Alpha cried, coming to join them. He tossed a handful of dry kindling on the fire. "As well-spoken as ever you were."

The Speaker nodded. "Age and time don't diminish the story," he murmured. 

"No indeed. So, Interloper, do you go back to the humans now?" Alpha asked. "Or will you stay with us tonight?"

It was a tempting offer, but Remus shook his head.

"I've done what I came to do. Now...either I have to find other packs, or ask you to pass the word along."

Alpha looked thoughtful. 

"I say this because you're kin, more or less, and because you remind me of my travels with the humans," he said slowly. "I would not go among the other pack if I were you. They are not as tolerant as we are. They live in colder climes, nearer the cities, and it makes them hard and bitter."

"All the more reason to keep them out of the influence of the Dark Lord."

"Are you sure it's not too late for that?"

"If it is, I have to know."

Alpha tapped his fingers on his jaw. "We'll pass your word on, Interloper. If I hear news, perhaps...perhaps it is time I sent the young out into the world, as I was sent. How can they find you?"

"They can ask for Albus Dumbledore, at Hogwarts School. Anyone in the Wizarding world will know how to send a message there."

"Very well then. I'll send guides down to the river's edge with you, to take you safely back. Can't have you stumbling about in the dark if you can't Change." Alpha clapped him on the shoulder. "Remember. When your war is done..."

"I will. Thank you, Alpha."

"Not at all, Interloper."

***

Alpha called across the meadow for Scouts, as the darkness began to fall in earnest. Five or six heads turned, and after brief conference, two boys -- perhaps eighteen, perhaps a little older -- unbent from crouches around the fire. Three more followed as wolves.

"Take him to the edge of territory safely," Alpha said. "As far as the river and across. You can make your own way from there," he added, to Remus. 

Remus went, following the Scouts, who were already loping their way through the trees on the northern edge of the meadow. It wasn't hard to keep up; there was the light of the waning moon, and they moved as slow as he did, though the wolves would dart forward and then come back. Like dogs, Remus thought, playing at follow-the-leader. Except there was nothing at all domestic about it. The boys spoke in low, growling tones, when they spoke at all, and they moved like...

They moved like Sirius had, near the end, well-accustomed to violence, gracefully muscular. Or like Kingsley Shacklebolt. Utterly confident in their strength. 

"Do your people know sticktalk?" a tall, fair-haired scout asked, falling behind to walk with Remus as the others forged ahead. He could see the riverbank from here, and the shrub he'd left his bag under. 

"We have other methods," Remus replied reservedly, recalling the last time he'd tried to teach Ron Weasley to use a telephone.

"Does everyone dress like that?" the boy continued, eyeing his clothing.

"More or less."

"And you go to war against the Death Eaters?"

Remus looked at him sharply. "How do you know what they're called?"

The boy looked back, eyes wide and innocent, as their feet left prints in the soft soil at the edge of the river.

Remus' eyes darted to his left arm, which was bound in leather. 

He couldn't run for the water. The boys were flanking him, and the three wolves stood in a ring between him and the water. He could run for the forest but they knew the way, and he didn't. Even if he yelled, Alpha wouldn't hear him from here. 

He began to back away, slowly. They watched him.

"They came to see us," the boy said. "They promised in the new regime we'd have respect. They said we'd be elite."

"I suppose they promised you could hunt humans if you liked," Remus said, dry horror filling him. 

"The others set on them and tried to kill them, but we stopped them. The Alpha's very proud of us for that," said the other boy. "So he doesn't mind too closely what we do."

"And look at our reward." The first boy pulled on a lace of the leather, and it fell away, revealing the snake-and-skull tattoo that was the sign of the Death Eaters. 

"Just me," he added, with a proud smile. "I'm their Alpha."

"You've no idea..." Remus stammered. He took another step backwards, and nearly stumbled. 

It was all the wolves needed. One of them darted forward, leaping for him, and he twisted in the air, falling to the ground. The other two were on him, one fixing on his arm, the other trying to pin his chest. 

He screamed in pain and rolled, hand groping for anything, some kind of weapon, closing on a thick length of stick. He bashed at the head of the one gnawing his arm, and it shrieked, but released him -- a sharp stab in the ribs of the other drew blood, and he managed to scrabble backwards while they were regrouping -- 

Hands clamped on both his arms, and the two boys grinned at him.

"Do you want to see what we do to our enemies?" one of them hissed. His hand went to Remus' throat -- the older man writhed, but couldn't escape. Dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes before he was released. 

He fell to his knees and scrabbled for the stick again, but the wolves were on him. Any two he could have fought, but three was too much. Teeth ripped him; claws ripped clothing, shredding fabric, shredding skin. He felt the boys' hands holding him down, their fingers gouging him.

"We don't kill them easy," someone hissed in his ear, and suddenly the teeth and claws and scratching hands pulled back, and instead he was being pushed, dragged across the damp earth, and there was a freezing shock as the river water washed over him. He tried to breathe -- coughed -- his air supply was cut off, his lungs burning as water washed into them. 

And then the freezing, sucking blackness pulled him down.


	6. Chapter 6

What was he, when we came to sift   
His meaning, and to note the drift   
Of incommunicable ways   
That make us ponder while we praise?  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Something was pressing on his head, something relentless and uneven. He couldn't move...so cold...must have kicked the blankets off in the middle of the night. Where was Tonks -- 

Cold water washed across his face, and he snorted, coughing. The spasm sent wracking pains through his body, and his eyes snapped open.

For a moment he couldn't figure out what he was seeing, until the shapes resolved themselves into a starry sky. He tried to lift an arm, and something warm gushed over it; he turned his head, and water rushed into his face again.

He was lying in the river, he thought, panicked. He tried to roll, and another stab of pain, another gush of warm -- 

Blood.

Blood pouring out of his left arm, aided by the water. He lifted it up, moaning, and managed to get his head and body away from the current. 

The river. They'd left him facedown, drowning in the river, and gone. Something must have pushed him over. The current was weak, but he wasn't exactly a heavy man. 

His thoughts came thick and slow, and the now-constant pain was making movement difficult. He writhed his way fully onto the bank, retching, teeth chattering. 

Full night. He was going to freeze -- 

And his wand was across the river. 

He couldn't cry for help, and there was no way he was ever, ever going to get to the pack grounds. He pushed himself to his knees and wavered, unsteadily, staring across the water. 

His left arm was torn nearly to the bone, and bled when he moved it, but his fingers were too numb and weak to rip enough fabric from his tattered clothes to bind it. 

The thought was slow in coming, but when it finally arrived, he winced. He had to get across the river. If he didn't, he was going to die. Werewolves healed fast, but not from werewolf bites...

The cold he could conquer and the feeling that his lungs were full of water would pass, but if he stayed here tonight he would bleed to death. He could feel wounds in his calves and thighs, could feel smaller cuts and scratches from claws on his chest. He tried to push himself to his feet, and his skin burned. 

_I cannot crawl through a river using only one hand, I can't, I can't._

He rested his right hand on the ground and managed to get his legs curled under him. With a supreme effort, he pushed himself upwards, standing unsteadily. The world tilted and spun, but the pain helped with that; he pitched forward, retching again, but his right leg steadied and he managed to stay on his feet. 

The other bank was too far away. He'd never make it.

_So do you want to bleed slowly to death in the territory of a bunch of Death Eater werewolves, or do you want to die quick and hypothermic while at least trying to get home?_

He looked down at the chunk missing from his arm. Bleeding slowly had its appeal. 

Still, he moved forward, into the freezing water, silver and black in the starlight. On the other bank was his wand, and he could...could...

What exact good was his wand going to do him?

Can't think, can't walk...

He tripped on a root and fell with a tooth-jarring thud to his knees. The cold seeped into his left leg, the worse of the two, and he let a keen of pain pass his lips. The current caught and eddied in the shredded remains of his clothes.

He let himself go down for just a second, and the sharp shock of cold water in his nose and ears helped again. A quarter of the way there...

He braced against a rock and pushed himself up with his right hand. One step...two steps. Three, four, five, halfway there -- 

He stepped out of the lee of a big rock, and the sudden rush of water swept him under. He fetched up against a tree trunk, lungs burning, and heard the sharp crack of ribs breaking. A second later he could feel them move as they mended. Some small mercy, anyhow. 

He clung to the rotting wood, realising that he was fast going numb. Even his werewolf blood, what was left of it, couldn't handle this. He pushed away, crawling now, hands slowly finding grips on the stones jutting from the riverbed. Still so far to go.

Tonks was going to be so angry if he died. And Harry...

He laughed through the pain. Harry was getting to be quite the expert at surviving people. 

Tonks and Harry. Their picture was in his wallet in the bag, under the shrub, which was now upriver slightly. Tonks and Harry...like a family...

He felt the chill seeping into his wounds. The scratches on his chest stung, and the water's spray blinded him. He felt his right arm give, and rolled to avoid going face-down again.

Shallow water. He coughed, looking up. 

On the bank. Oh god he was on the bank. 

He crawled up onto the soil, resting his forehead on it, breathing heavily. 

Tonks and Harry were waiting. Waiting by the bush. That was all that mattered. Prongs and Padfoot were dead but Tonks and Harry were still waiting for him. His family was waiting for him. Harry was going to be upset if he didn't show. He'd made a promise. 

He crawled away from the water, eyes never leaving the leather bag that was not much more than a shadow under the shrub. He collapsed when he reached it, and rolled until he was on his back, pulling the bag over, spreading its contents onto the wet grass. His wallet tumbled open, and he picked it up.

Blood ran down his wrist, over his fingers, smearing on the photograph. He laughed, bitterly.

His wand fell on his chest, and he gripped it with trembling, numb fingers. Could he send up sparks...? Nobody would see...nobody? Nobody would see what?

Oh, that was his wand. Sparks? How did it go now...

What?

Harry and Tonks. How had blood got on their picture?

Oh, he hurt. So badly. Worse than when he'd been a child. 

His wand. He could...

How would it help?

It was a wand. Wands helped. That was what they were there for. Remus helped too. Helpful werewolf. Never did anything but help.

_Somebody please help me._

_For god's sake, Tonks, stop stealing the blankets, I'm freezing._

_What about my wand?_

Something warm on his chest. Tonks. Heavy and warm on his chest. _Stay here. If you stay I can sleep. I love you too. No, what about my wand?_

_Yes, Harry, that's the Wingardium spell. I think that's how he did it. Your dad can tell you._

_Oh he's dead. Yes. Well, that's all right, I'm here. That's quite a complex charm. No, here, I'll show you. Just like with the Patronus._

_Mine? Mine's a...well it's a Thestral...don't laugh. Here..._

_Expecto patronum...yes, good. You're doing very well._

***

"Tonks, you've at least got to eat," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. "Or stop pacing. One of the two. If you don't pace you can keep not eating. If you eat you can keep pacing. But you've got to make up your mind or I swear I'm going to tie you to a chair."

Tonks looked up at him, stopping in her pacing of the floor. "It's been four days. He can't have gone so far in four days that Hedwig can't find him. We could have Aurors looking for him, we could BE Aurors looking for him -- "

"We've been over this," Kingsley said tiredly. "The Order can work faster and better than the Ministry could. Especially him...being what he is."

Tonks' eyes blazed. "It shouldn't matter!"

"But it does."

"Not to me!"

"And you are one among many, but the Ministry isn't going to work any harder than it has to, finding a wayward werewolf. Besides, he may have his reasons. He may be in negotiation with the pack."

"For all we know he's with the pack and they've killed and eaten Hedwig," Tonks muttered. "And Pig and Alcyone and Nona too."

"Stringy birds, owls," Kingsley rumbled. "Doubt they'd make much of a meal."

"Werewolves'll eat anything," Tonks said, with a slightly bitter look. "Molly told me. Remus eats chicken bones."

"Roughage."

"It's not funny, Kingsley."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair slightly, to look up at her. "You won't eat, you hardly sleep, the only reason you're not wandering the countryside right now is that Dumbledore won't let you."

"And if he didn't threaten to fire me from the Order," she said crossly. She started pacing again.

"It's not healthy."

"Thank you, mum."

"You know he'd say the same thing."

"He also said he'd be safe and he'd take care of himself!"

There was the thunk of a door hitting a wall, and Arthur skidded through the foyer, into the kitchen. He was disheveled, white as a sheet, and panting.

"Found him," he gasped, clutching his chest. "...hospital."

"Found him?" Kingsley asked. "Which hospital? St. Mungo's?"

"Bloody...Muggle hospital..."

"He's in a Muggle hospital?" Tonks demanded. "Daft bastard!"

Arthur looked insulted. 

"HIM NOT YOU!" Tonks shouted. "Which one?"

"Came...to take you there...oh bloody hell." Arthur drew in lungfuls of air. "Had to run down the block to get somewhere I could Apparate. Got to take you back -- too far away if you don't know where you're going."

"Breathe, Arthur," Kingsley insisted. 

"Is he all right?"

Arthur wheezed. "I dunno. Came straight back here. Snape's there now. He found 'im."

"Snape found him?" Kingsley asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Thought he ought to check Muggle hospitals," Arthur said, his breathing slowing. "You know Severus, always thinking strange things."

"Is he okay?"

Arthur straightened. "We don't know," he rasped. "Follow me."

Tonks and Kingsley nodded, following when he Disapparated. They appeared, unsteadily, in a dark brick-lined niche. Arthur took Tonks' arm, pulling her towards a gap between buildings.

"This way," he said urgently, leading them down a nearly-deserted street. As soon as they came in range of the hospital, Kingsley groaned, and pointed. 

Perched on a tree outside the hospital entrance, Pig, Hedwig, Nona, and Alcyone were all sleeping, heads under their wings.

"Waiting to deliver their letters," Arthur sighed. "Come on, this way."

Snape was waiting for them inside, and he led them down the hallway, ignoring the questioning looks of nurses and orderlies.

"He's been here at least three days," he said as they walked, moving as if he'd memorised the way to the room. "Apparently someone saw something from the road and found him. Barbaric Muggles," he added, as they passed a woman being wheeled down the hall, a clear plastic bag attached to her arm by a tube. "They gave him one of those infernal bag things as well." 

"Have you seen him?" Arthur asked. Tonks' fingernails dug into his arm. 

"Briefly. They said he hasn't woken at all. They were going to cut into him, you know. Surgery, they call it."

"Muggle Medicine," Kingsley said, with a shake of his head. "Did you stop them?"

"I wouldn't submit my worst enemy to Muggle surgery," Snape replied. "And if they tried it on a werewolf they'd get a nasty surprise."

He pushed open a door and stalked inside. A nurse, holding a large roll of gauze in her hands, looked up in surprise.

"You're not supposed to -- "

"Stupefy," Tonks said, and the woman's eyes glazed over. Kingsley eased the nurse into a chair as Arthur, Tonks, and Snape gathered around the bed.

"Merlin, what have they done to him," Tonks said softly. Arthur reached out to hover his hand over the tangled, shredded remains of Remus' left arm. His head was swathed in bandages, and his chest rose and fell slowly.

"Muggle stitching," he said finally. "This is how it's supposed to be done. But they can't think this is going to be enough..."

"She was changing the bandages," Tonks said, turning to glance at the nurse. She peeled back the blanket and tugged down the collar of his hospital gown. His chest was covered in lacerations, most of them stitched, the ends visible at the edges of bandages taped onto his skin. "He's been like this for three days?"

"We need to take him out of here," Kingsley said decidedly. "Arthur -- "

"I'll take care of the doctors," Arthur said, ducking out the door. Kingsley examined the bag of clear liquid which seemed to be leaking into Remus by a rubber tube. After a moment, he ripped the tape off of his arm and pulled the tube out. There was a small sucking noise as the puncture wound healed over. 

Tonks investigated the rest of the machines, carefully following each wire before removing the attachment. Snape watched, detached, keeping an eye on the door. Finally, Kingsley pressed the blanket against Remus' side and lifted him, wrapped in the bedclothes. His head lolled, and Tonks thought she heard a quiet exhalation of pain.

"Careful with him," she said worriedly. 

"No fear, Tonks," Kingsley replied. "I'll Apparate to St. Mungo's. You get Arthur and follow. Snape -- "

"I'll call off the search," Snape said, sullenly, and Disapparated abruptly. Kingsley vanished shortly after, and Tonks ran to the door.

"Didn't take long," Arthur announced, reappearing by her side as she walked out. "Had to do this sort of thing once before -- vampire in a car accident, very touchy. Just let me take care of the nurse...Go on then, Tonks."

She caught his shoulder as he passed her.

"What can do that to a werewolf?" she asked softly. He looked at her carefully.

"Other werewolves," he replied. "Go to St. Mungo's, Tonks. That's an order."

She gave him a rebellious look, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

***

The admitting area of the Wizarding hospital, St. Mungo's, was nearly empty when she walked in -- no sign of Kingsley or Remus. She stopped at the desk, and the woman looked up at her, nodding.

"Fourth floor. Under 'Spell Damage'. Our little joke," she said, turning back to her paper. Tonks blinked.

"No, I'm not...sick..." she trailed off. "I'm looking for Remus Lupin. He was just brought in by an Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt -- "

"The one the Muggles got hold of? First floor, Dai Llewellyn ward," the woman said, pointing to the sign, which read 'Creature-Induced Injuries'. Tonks swore under her breath and started for the ward. 

When she reached it -- Arthur Weasley had spent time here, and it wasn't hard to remember the way -- she found Kingsley waiting for her. He caught her arm, steadying her.

"He's all right," he said urgently. "The Healers are working on him. You know Augustus Pye has experience with stitches -- "

"Kingsley!" someone shouted, and they turned to see Arthur, the twins on his heels, running down the hallway.

"How is he?" Arthur asked, skidding to a halt. Fred slammed into him, knocking him forward, and Tonks caught his shoulders, pushing him back.

"Sorry, Dad," Fred muttered. Arthur ran a hand through his thinning red hair. 

"The Healers are working on him. It's all right, Arthur," Kingsley said. Fred and George began canvassing the hallways, peering through windows. "Did you take care of the -- "

"Yes, yes, if I can't cast a simple obliviate by now..." Arthur waved a hand, irritated. 

"A crack team of Ministry representatives," drawled a voice, and Arthur turned to see Snape stalking down the hallway. "One would hope the end result is worth the effort," he added, robes swirling around his ankles as he halted. "All this to-do over a couple of wolf bites on a man who, frankly -- "

"Thank you, Severus," Tonks said suddenly. The others looked at her. There was a tense pause. 

"Thank you for finding him," she repeated, no trace of irony in her voice. "If you hadn't thought to look in Muggle hospitals he might have died there or been surgeryised or something. Thank you."

Snape looked at her, utterly stunned. He hadn't even been this surprised when she'd slapped him.

"You're welcome," he said, finally. 

Another long pause. Snape shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. 

"Someone's got to fetch those bloody owls," he growled. "Too stupid to know they ought to come find us..." 

He walked away, muttering under his breath, and Disapparated when he reached the end of the hallway.

"Who knew," Arthur said, looking at Tonks wonderingly. "Civility baffles him."

"Nobody ever says thank you to him," she muttered. "Not when they really mean it. I just thought it might shut him up."

***

There was little the Healers could do for Remus, in the end, other than cut the awful Muggle stitches out; they gave him blood replenishing potion and put a healing charm on the worst of the wounds, but nobody had ever seen a werewolf ripped apart like this. Not one that was still alive.

Kingsley, citing Auror authority and the need to protect a possible witness to a crime, got him moved to a private room. Harry and Hermione arrived soon after, with most of the rest of the Weasleys close behind. When Moody and Dumbledore appeared, trailed by Snape, Kingsley called an official Order meeting, presided over by Dumbledore in a chaotic jumble of stolen hospital chairs.

"Must've been werewolves," Moody said, his magic eye keeping a constant watch on the figure in the hospital bed. "Nothing else could do it."

"Nothing good can come of trying to reason with ferals," Kingsley added.

"We do not know," Dumbledore said slowly, "that the pack is responsible. From what I've heard of feral werewolves, they don't like to cause trouble."

"Well, obviously they sometimes get their kicks that way!" Tonks said angrily. "Otherwise my -- otherwise Remus wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed!"

"We do have the option," Arthur said slowly, "of making a formal complaint to the Aurors. I know it's what..." he glanced at Molly. "It's what Rufus Lupin did when Remus was a boy."

"Rufus had to," Moody grunted. "Handled that myself. Very hush-hush. Man had no choice though. He'd already shot one of them. If he didn't make formal complaint, he'd go up for unauthorised hunting. And then word'd be out about his boy."

The rest of the Order turned to him.

"Unauthorised hunting?" Tonks asked slowly.

"Well, it was a different time," Moody rumbled. "I'm sure he'd stand for murder now."

"But there's still recourse," Arthur continued. "If the pack did this to him, and we file complaint on his behalf -- does he have anyone listed as next of kin?"

"I am," Harry volunteered. He was sitting on the floor, head resting against Tonks' thigh, her hand smoothing his hair. Arthur stared at him, open-mouthed. "He's my godfather. He said so. It's in Sirius' will."

"If Harry registers a complaint with the Aurors, they're authorised to destroy the pack. It's in the Ministry statutes. If they attack a wizard or a human they lose standing as protected magical creatures," Arthur continued. "And if they did attack one of their own, it's probably because the Death Eaters got to them first. In which case -- "

"You're talking about destroying a family of people," Dumbledore said quietly. "Living, thinking people."

"They tried to kill him!" Tonks said. 

"No," said a faint, hoarse voice.

The whole room fell silent. Moody turned in his seat to regard Remus with both eyes. His head was turned, eyes open and glitteringly bright as he regarded them. None of them moved. 

His left hand crept across his body, clinging to the edge of the bed. The bloody wounds were clearly visible, dusted with the blue-green healing powder. 

"Ey...di'n't..." he slurred. "No," he tried again. 

Tonks stood, so quickly that her chair fell over. Harry caught the leg before it could fall the whole way. Dumbledore and Arthur were also rising.

" 'No' what?" Arthur asked, moving forward. Remus' eyes, unfocused, nevertheless followed his movements. 

"Domt...baame..." Remus made a small noise of frustration. "Hurts..."

"What do you want us to do?" Arthur asked. Tonks came forward to stand behind his shoulder, and Remus' eyes rolled upward.

"Ora," he said. Arthur looked at Tonks, who shook her head.

"What do you want, Remus?" she asked. 

"O...onee." He closed his eyes. "Onape. Ii...cy."

"He's asking for me," Snape said quietly. Tonks turned to him. "Legilimency."

He stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "Move aside please, Weasley," he said, approaching the bed. Remus let out a soft, relieved sigh. "This is...rather private," he continued. "The fewer here, the easier it will be. On both of us," he added, when Tonks opened her mouth to protest. "Out. All of you. Harry will stay."

Harry turned to regard him.

"A good practical lesson for you," Snape continued. 

Bill started forward. "Now see here, Harry doesn't need lessons right now, he needs -- "

"I don't believe I asked for your opinion on what my student does or does not need," Snape said icily. Arthur put a hand on his oldest son's shoulder, guiding the angry young man out of the room. Slowly, the others followed, until it was just the pair of them and Remus, in the dim shadows of the room.

"Onape," Remus said again.

"Yes, I'm sure there'll be time for us to shout at each other later," Snape said briskly. "Hold still. Potter, on the other side of the bed, if you please."

"I don't know how to do Legilimency," Harry whispered. "You didn't teach me that."

"I'm aware of that, boy." Snape placed his hands on either side of Remus' head, thumbs touching over the bridge of his nose. "Your job is to protect your precious Godfather's privacy. He's in no state to do it himself. When we begin, you will block out unnecessary memories. The better you are, the faster we'll know what happened."

Harry swallowed and nodded.

"Do you remember your training?"

"Yes."

"Good. You'll need it."

"I'm ready," Harry said.

"You will need to touch him," Snape sneered. Harry hesitantly put his hands out, unsure of where exactly he was supposed to touch. Snape, after an impatient moment, took Harry's hands and positioned them firmly on Remus' temples. He replaced his own in their position across the man's face, and scowled.

"And we begin," he announced gravely.

***

Harry looked exhausted when he finally opened the door and waved for those waiting in the hallway to come back inside. 

Snape was leaning against the wall next to the bed, his arms crossed. His eyes were sunk in his face, dark shadows under furrowed brows. Molly put her arm around Harry's shoulders. He shook his head, pulling away slightly. 

"I'm all right," he said quietly. He glanced at Snape. "It's okay."

"You need some rest," Molly said, steering him through the others. They could hear her in the hallway, demanding a spare bed, and Harry's exhausted agreement.

Snape waited until everyone had filed in, and then pushed away from the wall. 

"He's sleeping," he said curtly. "I didn't see everything, but I saw enough. Much as I believe we ought to wipe the whole pack out to begin with -- "

"Politics, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. Snape nodded.

"Someone recruited some of the younger members of the pack," he announced. "One of them's been appointed a sort of...temporary leader. He has a Dark Mark. The rest of the pack..." he glanced at Harry. "They don't even know. Their leader's thinking of sending the young ones out of the pack -- to see the outside world."

"Did you see where?" Kingsley asked. 

"I could take you there," Snape replied. 

"And you will," Kingsley replied. "The Aurors will handle it."

"Oh yes," Snape said, "And while we're on the topic of Remus Lupin's memories, I'd like to inform you that I'm not a spy, Shacklebolt."

Everyone in the room seemed suddenly to stop breathing. Kingsley met his eyes. 

"What a useful talent you have," he said finally. "Let us hope you eavesdropped on few other conversations."

"Don't blame me," Snape added. "Potter was supposed to block out the distractions."

"Nobody's going to blame Harry for your errors," Kingsley said. "It's difficult to block out distractions when your partner is looking for them."

"I went looking for answers to the questions we had. I can't help that it was so obviously in his mind," Snape replied. "For the record, I know I would like to take an informal poll." He looked away from Kingsley. "Because you see I'm not Remus Lupin, and I'm not afraid to ask who else thinks I'm a spy. This time."

The other members of the Order looked at each other. 

"I think," Dumbledore said, "that the hospital room of a dangerously ill man is not the place to hold discussions on the internal stability of the Order, Severus. As there is no way you can prove you are not a spy, and no way for anyone else to prove you are, the point is moot, and the status quo, as it were, will stand."

Snape nodded. "Nice to have such ringing endorsement," he said, acidly. "If you'll excuse me..." He moved towards the door. "Coming, Shacklebolt?"

"Aye," Kingsley rumbled, pushing past him into the hallway. Snape lingered in the door.

"And by the way, Tonks," he said, "Lupin doesn't think I'm a spy. But he does think you are."

The closing door rang loudly in the silent room. Tonks, pale and drawn, glanced at the bed.

"Don't believe him, he's always lying about stupid things -- " Fred started, but she shook her head.

"He enjoyed that too much for it to be a lie," she said. 

"It's ridiculous," George announced. "I don't know what Snape thinks he's playing at but I don't believe it."

"Nobody believes it," Arthur agreed. "You've too much good sense for that, Tonks."

"It doesn't matter," she answered. "I know nobody believes it. So...knowing that," she said, as if she were working out a mathematics equation, "it just matters that he does."

***

"It was like music," Harry said, lying on the cot in the corner of the ward. Molly, sitting on the end of the bed, watched his hands clench the blanket. "It's never been like that before. It felt...everything fell in place. It wasn't like I was trying to do anything. It was just like music."

"You should sleep," Molly said quietly.

"Humans don't think like books at all," Harry continued. "I've been thinking it's like reading a book, or seeing a movie, but it's not. We think like orchestras. A full-on orchestra. With all sorts of things going on underneath all sorts of other things. I could see it all. I think I didn't do it right, though. But I will. Next time I will."

He yawned, and Molly smiled.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time," she said.

"You know what? He loves my dad," Harry said, sleepily.

"Of course he does."

"And Sirius and me, too. And Tonks."

"Sleep, Harry."

"It was on account of me and Tonks," Harry insisted.

"What was?"

"That he came back. He thought we were there. And he thought he was s'posed to be teaching me about Patronuses again and he called his up and that's why they found him, I think. It's fuzzy."

Molly drew her eyebrows together. "He called up a Patronus?"

"Mmmh, and see, some Muggles saw it and came to look. I think. He wasn't really all there, so I don't know it all."

There was the click of a door opening as Tonks walked into the hospital room, creeping quietly past the other beds. She reached Harry's cot, and leaned against the wall, sliding down. 

"Hey Tonks," Harry mumbled. 

"Hi, Harry," Tonks said, sounding as tired as he did. 

"Howya?"

"I've had a really, really bad day," she said. "How about you?"

"I'm all right."

Molly stood, slowly, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I've got to speak with Dumbledore," she said gently. "Will you two be all right?"

"Sure, Molly," Tonks answered. Her hair had dulled, Molly noticed, until it was a sort of listless dark colour. She smiled at Tonks, and turned to go. 

Harry drew a breath, eyes closed. "Hey, I was s'posed to tell you something," he said. Tonks let her head thud against the wall. 

"Oh yes?"

Harry was silent, breathing evenly, for so long that she thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "Don't listen to Snape."

Tonks raised an eyebrow, slowly. 

"He wanted to tell me that?"

"Mm-hm. Don't listen to Snape," Harry said. "About you. Cos Snape hasn't got the whole story."

"I'm not sure what exactly can help me ignore what Snape told me," Tonks mused. 

"Don't listen to 'im," Harry said, sliding into sleep.

"All right, Harry. I won't," Tonks answered softly. 

Different words from different mouths. Snape's gossip, like a razor on her nerves, with no explanation, a parting shot meant to injure and dismay. 

And Harry's sleepy reassurances, even more vague than what Snape had to tell her, but comforting. Snape made her want to throw things. Harry made her want to cry.

But she did neither; she simply remained there, next to Harry's cot, standing a nominal sort of guard as he slept -- eyes dry, thoughts drifting, perfectly still in the quiet room.

***

The Order was at loose ends, it seemed; Remus in the hospital, Tonks and Harry exhausted and sleeping, with Bill Weasley standing guard in shifts with the twins. Snape and Kingsley hadn't yet checked in, and the others came and went as they could. Dumbledore had gone to join Kingsley; Arthur and Molly spent their time trying to contact everyone who'd been searching or following the search. 

When Tonks woke, Bill Weasley was leaning over her, holding a cup of coffee. She accepted it gratefully and glanced at Harry, who was still fast asleep. 

"Hippocrates Smethwyck wants to talk to you," he said quietly. "It's about five in the morning, in case you're wondering why the world is a horrible place."

"Thanks, Bill," she said, standing and sipping the coffee. "Why does he want to see me?"

"Dunno," Bill said. "Don't worry, George's about, he'll keep an eye on Harry."

"How's Remus?" she asked dully, as the horror of the night before came rushing back.

"Still sleeping. Hell of a night for the Order," Bill continued, as they walked down the corridor. "Got Dumbledore's right hand just about in a coma, Death Eaters amongst the wolves, Snape thinks we all think he's a spy and that Lupin thinks your a spy, which is frankly ridiculous, by the way, and -- "

"It's all right, Bill," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."

Bill nodded. "Sure, course you don't. Next time I see the bastard I'd like your permission to break his greasy nose, though."

"Yes, because there's not enough trouble in the Order right now," Tonks sighed. "Let him alone, Bill, it's not his fault."

"You can't really think -- "

"I didn't want to talk about it," Tonks said.

"Right," Bill nodded. "Sorry. There he is -- Smethwyck!" he called. The Healer, peering through a window down the corridor, turned and gave them a smile.

"Nymphadora Tonks, good to see you again," he said, with a smile. "Though I wish it was under better circumstances, yes?"

"You must get that a lot," Tonks said softly. Bill clapped her on the shoulder and moved on, into the room Remus was being kept in. 

"Fortunately, in this case I'm the bearer of good news twice over," he said, still smiling. "At least, I hope. First, I thought I should probably talk to someone...a little more responsible than Bill..." he tapped the side of his nose. "Mr. Lupin's going to be fine. It's not going to be painless, but I imagine between his unique physiology and our knowledge, he ought to be up and walking around in another week or so. Might have some trouble with his arm."

"That's good," Tonks said, numbly.

"And, I believe I have some other good news. Well, I hope I do. When you spoke to our floor witch downstairs, she misdirected you at first, yes? She mentioned it to me. They're trained to do a bit of diagnostic magic, you see..."

"Yes, but I just thought -- I thought she thought I was sick," Tonks said.

"Well, she did and she didn't. If I may?" the Healer held up his wand, and gestured to her arm. She blinked, but held it out anyway. He pressed the tip of the wand to the inside of her elbow, and listened to the other end. 

He's gone daft, Tonks thought. 

"Aha, yes. Easiest way to tell," he said with a smile. "Especially this early."

She waited patiently as he straightened. "You'll have to give your young man my congratulations, unless you want to introduce me," he said. 

Tonks stared.

***

Bill was standing over the bed when Tonks entered, looking pale. He lifted one corner of the blanket and showed her the sleeping man's bare chest. The lacerations from the wolves' claws were nearly healed, showing fresh pink skin edged with white. There'd been a bad bite on his shoulder that was looking significantly better as well, and his arm, dusted with a fresh treatment of the shimmering blue powder the Healers had concocted, was looking...less mangled. Part of his hair, behind his ear, had been clipped away from what was now a slightly-raised scar; there were still faint marks from the Muggle stitches in it. The line extended down behind his jaw, and she thought it must have been what kept him from speaking clearly the day before. 

"He's looking much better," Bill said approvingly.

"The Healer says he'll be all right. Maybe another week," she heard herself say. 

"You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"Well, I meant it in the nicest possible way."

"Bill, it's not that I don't appreciate the perpetual Weasley good cheer, but it's exhausting in large doses," Tonks said, leaning back against the wall, next to the bed. Bill smiled.

"A polite way of telling me to bugger off," he said, with a nod. "Wouldn't make a bad Weasley yourself."

Tonks laughed, rubbing her forehead. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm tak...I'm..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

She didn't answer, and eventually he turned and left. Once he was gone, she let her legs fold, and slid to the ground. 

The world was not this cruel. It didn't take people from you only to give them back, no matter how broken and hurt -- and then take them from you again when you found out what they really thought of you. And then give them back to you because of...because of biology...

His breathing was so even when he slept. He'd been surprised and dismayed, the first morning waking up next to her, to find she'd been...studying him. Watching him. She wasn't the only one, and that had upset him too. But he hadn't shied away. She supposed he probably felt if she wasn't going to run from a werewolf, he wasn't going to run from an Auror. 

He had no reason to think she was a spy. No reason at all. There was no good reason. 

She rested her face in her hands. Her head ached, neck sore from sleeping sitting upright. They'd known each other for at least a year, and had been good friends for months. She'd been so sure he felt the same way she was beginning to feel...as if their arrangement, their hobby, was leading into something that she wanted and she knew he desperately needed. 

"Please don't cry."

She looked up and saw him -- arm braced on the side of the bed, face slanted towards her, jaw against the pillow.

"It's really not worth it," he said softly. "I mean, I'm obviously not."

She tilted her head until they were both looking sideways at each other. "Nobody said I was going to cry."

Remus smiled, then winced slightly. "Ow."

"You're talking better than you were last night."

"I'm a lot less doped up. The Muggles had me on morphine. Slept it off. And..." his fingers drifted up to rub the scar behind his ear. "I guess that didn't help matters any."

She waited. There wasn't really anything to say until he shifted, rolling over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Gloating I could understand," he continued. "After all, you were right. I'm so sorr -- "

"Snape told us."

"Yes, I felt him in my head. Awful sensation. I want to scrub out my brain."

"Harry was there too."

She heard the hitch in his breathing. 

"They both said a lot of interesting things," she added, slightly bitterly. "Snape, for instance, had some insights into -- "

She was stopped by the opening of the door; Kingsley walked in, trailed by Dumbledore, Bill, and a man Tonks recognized as one of the senior Aurors in the Ministry. Remus struggled up on his elbows, wincing, and breathed heavily.

"Don't get up on our account," Dumbledore said with a small, dry smile. Remus let out a breath, fell back, and rolled onto his side. His left arm rested across his hip, a vivid reminder of the Death Eaters' attack. 

Kingsley slumped into a seat and slid a long, narrow leather case from his shoulder. It was oblong, with snaps along the length of it, and a piece of strangely-shaped wood visible at one end. 

"You must be Remus Lupin," the older Auror said, eyes tracing the wounds and scars on Remus' arms and chest, the healing lacerations on his face. "My name is Jack Longbottom, I've been attached to this case as supervisor. We owe you a debt of gratitude."

"I'm afraid what I'm owed is a sound thrashing for being a fool," Remus said, slightly hoarse. "But as you can see..." he lifted his arm. "That's been taken care of."

Longbottom gave him a grim smile. "Yes, well. If you hadn't been a fool, we wouldn't have a clue that the Death Eaters were infiltrating the feral packs."

"We found the pack's hunting grounds," Kingsley said, his voice lacking its usual booming strength. He sounded strained. 

"Did you speak to Alpha?" Remus asked. Tonks listened carefully, eyes shifting between Remus and Jack Longbottom. The older man glanced at Kingsley. "No, I suppose not...how'd you even...how'd you find them? Or even try to talk to them?"

"Well..." Longbottom coughed. "We have our own contacts, you see...not in the pack, but Aurors find it useful to have friends in strange places..."

"There's a werewolf in the Aurors," Tonks said, sharply. Longbottom, after a pause, nodded. 

"Two, actually," he said. "It's all kept very quiet. Though I must say recruiting Mr. Lupin is a rather promising prospect -- "

Kingsley very nearly growled. Longbottom spared him a brief, scolding glance. 

"As it turns out," he said softly, "we didn't need to use...interpreters."

Remus' eyes focused past the Auror, on the leather case next to Kingsley.

"That's a rifle," he said, thoughtfully. Bill's head turned.

"What's a rifle?" the redheaded man asked.

"It's a weapon you use when you're going to kill a werewolf. A rifle and a silver bullet," Remus said, his eyes closing. "My father used one."

"We didn't have to use it," Kingsley rumbled. "We..."

He trailed off, and Tonks realised this was the first time she had ever seen Kingsley bereft. Remus was silent, eyes closed. Tonks watched as complicated communications went on between Kingsley and Longbottom. Bill, rubbing the back of his head, came to sit next to her. Dumbledore was sitting, hands folded, face carefully blank.

"Perhaps it would be easier for a stranger to say it," Longbottom said finally. Remus' eyes opened. "There appears to have been a coup in the pack. By the time we arrived..."

"They killed Alpha, didn't they?" Remus asked. Longbottom drew a photograph out of his pocket.

It would have been so much easier if it had been a Muggle photograph, completely frozen. In fact, the body lying in the photograph was eerily still; the horror was in the way the grass waved gently, all around him. Remus reached out to touch it, thoughtfully.

"That's Alpha," he said. "Did they -- "

"We found twenty-two bodies," Kingsley said. Bill ran a hand over his face. Dumbledore closed his eyes. 

"We've already sent one of our...special recruits to the second pack, and we're preparing to talk to packs on the continent. Word is that the Death Eaters haven't made it that far yet."

"Ye gods," Remus murmured. "There were only thirty, thirty-five people in the pack to start with. The children..."

"Children too," Kingsley said softly.

Remus closed his eyes again, right hand rubbing the wrist of his left, just below where the jagged, healing wound started. After a second, he gave a quiet grunt of pain, and rolled until his back was to them. 

"It was very recent," Longbottom continued. "Hours at most."

"His strategy is simple," said Dumbledore, speaking for the first time. "Join or die. Apparently the pack chose not to join."

Tonks could hear Remus' breathing, quick and shallow. 

"Leave," she said, standing quickly. "All of you. Now."

"We thought you should be the first to know," Kingsley said.

"Now, Kingsley. Let him alone."

Dumbledore and Bill left without a word; after another silent conversation -- an argument without speech -- Kingsley and Longbottom left as well. Tonks, tense and shaking, turned to Remus. When they'd left, he'd turned back to watch them; now he looked up at her, eyes impossibly blank. 

She put a hand to her mouth, drew a ragged breath, and ran.

***

Remus had rarely been without anything to do. Even during the darkest times, during the days when he was waiting for the nights and the horror they brought, he'd had occupations. Books. Studies. His life's work measured out in ink on parchment, in printed word, in thoughts. His mind was always occupied, and often his hands as well. 

But for once in his life, he could not move to act; he could not bring himself to ask for books or parchment, and if they'd been forthcoming, he couldn't have done anything with them. He had parchment, come to think on it; in the leather bag that was tucked under his bed, having been retrieved from the Muggle hospital by Arthur Weasley. He didn't want to use his hands, couldn't anyway; the muscles on his left arm were still healing, and they'd nearly torn his right thumb off -- it was one of the few bits of him bound up in bandages, and not left horribly open and exposed as the healing powder did its work. 

He had no inclination to do anything but lie in the hospital bed, listening to the blood sing through his veins as he healed. Faster than in a Muggle hospital, slower than if he'd been human, the Healer had said -- they couldn't use the normal charms, because of course he wasn't normal. 

Twenty-two dead. Not his fault; he wasn't so far gone as to take those deaths directly on his shoulders, but he did know his presence -- and possibly the lack of his corpse -- had triggered the deaths. So.

Two packs decimated, one with rifle and one in civil war. Both because of him. Neither, exactly, his fault...simply the result of actions taken by people on his behalf.

It was amazing the Order hadn't somehow imploded with Remus Lupin around, he thought sardonically. 

Tonks was afraid of him too. Angry at him, of course, for leaving to talk to the ferals alone, but when she'd turned to look at him and he'd wanted nothing more than to call out to her and draw her close...

Well, she'd run off. He'd seen fear before, fear of what he was, he knew what it looked like, and she'd had it.

Couldn't look too pretty now, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. He was a mess. Fresh pink skin covering over the cuts on his chest, open wounds on his arms and legs...he was fully aware that he'd lost even more weight, that his cheeks were sunken and his eyes glittered too brightly. And the full moon was close.

He shut his eyes. If he could sleep...

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lupin!" said a bright, cheery voice.

He suddenly wished for Kingsley's rifle. 

"My name's Danae Pedimentia. Up we go!"

He felt a hand grip his shoulder firmly, and turned to regard the intruder.

"What do you want?" he asked, feeling that he was entitled to a little rudeness after what he'd been through.

"I'm here to help you get those muscles working again!" she said, making a fist and tapping him with it on his shoulder. "If you heal up while your legs are all tense and tight, it'll stop you walking properly. Can't have that!"

 _My god,_ he thought. _This must be what Snape feels like all the time._

"I'm tired," he said, rolling away.

"Ah ah ah! No-one's too tired to be healthy!" she insisted. "Look, I've brought you a lovely cane, and I'm sure if you work hard you'll have a wonderful appetite for your dinner."

 _I'm going to kill her,_ he thought, as she pushed him up, tugging him by his arms into a sitting position. _She must die. I'm sure the jury will understand._

And then, slightly giddily -- after all, werewolves have the same rights as humans in court now...

At least it was something to channel the fear into. If he had to be doing something, it might as well be painful. Take his mind off the creeping lethargy that the little, analytical part of him was beginning to seriously worry about.

***

The house on Grimmauld Street had felt...not empty, exactly. After all, the twins lived there, and Professor Snape spent a disturbing amount of time there. Ron and Hermione had promised to stay the night, and Arthur and Molly came and went, speaking with other members and spreading the information as widely as possible. 

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the kitchen wall. Everyone seemed to be waiting. And there was a ghostly feeling in the house where his...yes. However strange it was to think, he had a godfather again. And there was an empty space where his godfather, Remus Lupin, ought to be. Ghosts where all the people who were supposed to take care of him ought to be. 

Ghosts in his head.

When Professor Snape went into Remus' head, oh so many memories. Harry hadn't been able to stem them all, and truth be told he hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted to see the hidden pride Remus had when he was his teacher. He'd wanted to see all the thousands of memories of Sirius and his father. There were things Harry'd seen that were too deeply buried to seek out clearly -- the nights of the full moon, the days following the prank Sirius had played on Professor Snape, the howling, sucking despair he'd felt the day Voldemort was killed. 

And the ghostly white Thestral -- Remus Lupin had never produced a Patronus, had never needed to, until after all those deaths. His living incarnation was a Thestral. 

Harry probed the memories lingering in his own mind, as if he were pushing at a loose tooth. There it was -- the reason for his Patronus. Memories of his friends. After that, for a little while, a woman named...a woman Harry couldn't name, whose face was all but faded anyway. And still later, he could feel the older man struggle, every time, to find a joyful memory. 

Until the last time. Harry gasped, suddenly, as that vision pushed itself to the forefront. It was as though someone had thrown him against the wall; the air just went out of him. 

Love. Overwhelming, breathtaking love. Even Sirius...he'd never shown such...and Remus would never, ever admit it, but...

Love and pride. As close to a father's as any man could have. Love for him, a father's love. Love for Tonks, too, and desire and warm regard, but Harry was lost, for the moment, in how much Remus Lupin loved him.

"Harry?"

He blinked, swallowed, and drew a shaky breath. Fred was standing in front of him, looking worried.

"You all right?" Fred asked, cocking his head.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "I'm okay. No, really. Just...still tired."

Fred nodded. "You and everyone else. Shacklebolt's gone to mum for a sleeping potion and Snape's sulking and angry and Tonks' room is locked and spelled shut. So even if we wanted to, she couldn't hear us. You hear about the pack?"

"The pack?" Harry asked. He glanced down, and shook his head. "Nobody tells me anything, remember? It's the first rule of life at Grimmauld Place. Don't tell Harry."

"Well, I've never been one for rules, really," Fred said.

"That's the understatement of the year."

"And little Potter shows some bite! Good for you, Harry."

Harry ran a hand over his face. "What happened to the pack? I saw some things...when I was working with Professor Snape."

"Shacklebolt says there was a coup. Buncha Death Eater werewolves killed all the rest."

_The leader's name is Alpha. He asked me to come back and hear their epics --_

Remus' memories. Damn.

"He tell Remus yet?"

"Yeah."

"How'd that go?"

"Tonks threw everyone out."

Harry managed a weak laugh. "Doesn't shock me."

"It's half-ten already. You look like you could use some sleep," Fred continued. "I mean the Healers say he's gonna be fine, so you shouldn't worry." A pause. "Listen, Harry..."

Harry looked up at him. He'd never seen such honest concern on Fred's face; no mischief, no humour, just anxiety.

"I'm okay. Really."

Fred nodded. "It's...when it was dad, you know...I mean until he was home, none of us really thought he...he would be. Coming home. But Lupin's going to come home."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I just hope he'll be okay, when he does."

***

"Weasley."

George looked up from the desk in the sitting-room he shared with Fred, and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked. Snape loomed in the doorway, scowling.

"I require your assistance," the older man said curtly.

"You mean you want my help," George said with a grin.

"If it pleases you to play games, Weasley -- "

"All right, all right, what is it?"

Snape gestured him down the hallway, and George followed -- mostly out of sheer morbid curiousity.

On a table in one of the house's palatial bathrooms, a small fountain was running, seemingly without machinery. George hunched over and examined it.

"You made a Crinon?" he asked. 

"I am...curious," Snape said, nodding. "As to why, everywhere the Dark Lord has passed...we find one of these."

He nudged the fountain -- just a plate and a cup, with water bubbling over and cycling back up top every few seconds -- and a few drops splashed onto the table. After a second, they were sucked back into the flow, as if it was a magnet attracting iron filings. 

"Moody said water magic's the hardest sort," George observed.

"Crinon's Peculiar Fountain isn't for fools and witlings," Snape agreed. "And there's not much the experiment can tell us."

"So why'd you do it?"

"Touch the water. Not the plate -- the actual water."

George, giving him a suspicious look, ran his fingers on the water. His eyes drooped, and he nearly collapsed; Snape caught him roughly under one armpit. His hand pulled away from the water, and he stumbled backwards.

"What'd you do to this?" he demanded. 

"Nothing. It is in the nature of the Peculiar Fountain to draw magical power," Snape replied, eyes dark in his face. "Muggles wouldn't notice. Any natural magic in the area would be drawn in and cycled through. Children born with magical ability would probably be drained by it."

George glanced at him. "So...You-Know-Who's stealing magic?"

Snape nodded.

"What do we do about it?"

The older man picked up a bowl of rough-ground white crystals.

"Salt," he said, when George lifted an eyebrow. He shook some into his hand, and sprinkled it over the fountain. It ceased, instantly. Water splattered onto the table.

"Break the fountain, draw the power," George observed. Snape was silent. The boy studied the pools of water for a while.

"We're really going to end him, aren't we?" he said finally. "The battle's really coming."

"It's been coming for fifteen years," Snape said quietly. 

"You're not a spy."

"No, boy."

"I believe you."

"Oh, how splendid," Snape said sarcastically. 

"I'll make sure the rest of my family's behind you."

"And it just gets better!"

George stepped out into the hallway, and leaned against the wall. "Why are you such an utter ass, Snape?"

A second later a hand was at his collar, lifting him up. Snape's hand. Holding him in the air and pinning him to the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I am doing my level best not to lose what little I have in this world, not to mention help save it from itself, and do you know what I get? A slap in the face from Nymphadora Tonks, five minutes of shouting and not one bloody thank-you from that suicidal werewolf, and the first thing I see when I try to find out what happened to him? I find that Kingsley Shacklebolt thinks I'm still a Death Eater."

He let go, and George dropped to his feet, coughing.

"Do not ever presume that you and I are equals and that you are permitted to speak to me in that manner," Snape hissed. "So you believe I'm not a spy and you do whatever you think is fit and in the meantime stay the hell out of my way."

He turned and stalked down the hallway towards his room.

"You should tell Dumbledore," George called after him. Snape lifted a hand in a brisk gesture of agreement, without turning, and vanished into the shadows as Fred and Harry came around the corner.

"I heard shouting," Fred said. George grinned.

"Giving Snape a little chance to vent, that's all," he replied. 

***

"I love the sun."

Arthur glanced up from where he was eating Remus' breakfast, since the other man had taken three bites and retched, running to the bathroom to be ill.

He hadn't really eaten, not really, in nearly six days. The Healers said it was probably the charms making him nauseous. So, Arthur was enjoying quite a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and toast. And Remus was standing at the window, having been ordered to stand or walk for at least two hours by the woman Remus would only refer to as That Blasted Harpy. 

He had the curtain drawn back, and was staring out. Sunlight streamed in. 

"Can't ever feel enough of it," Remus continued, lifting his face to the rays. "When the only thing you can depend on is that the sun will always, always rise, and end everything..."

"You feeling all right, Lupin? Only you're not usually inclined towards angstful poetic prose," Arthur said, around a mouthful of oatmeal. Remus nodded.

"Well, it's more interesting than saying that everywhere itches," he replied. The cane he was supposed to be using to help him walk tapped idly on the floor. "Or that I have irrevocably buggered up my life."

"Itch...irrevocably buggered up life." Arthur held up his hands, pretending to weigh them. "How, precisely?"

"You mean aside from driving off the only woman in ten years to tolerate me, nearly getting killed, being the indirect cause of twenty-two deaths, and having Harry see the inside of my head?"

"I once forgot Molly's birthday," Arthur said. Remus glanced at him. "I'm just saying. You know. Everyone makes mistakes. And if you don't think it's the same thing, you don't really know Molly. Oh, and I dropped Ron once."

"You...dropped him?"

"Only a little, not far at all. And it was onto a bed. Squirmy little thing."

"Arthur, you had five children before Ron."

"They weren't squirmers," Arthur said with a grin. "Molly nearly had a heart attack."

"But she didn't run away when she saw you," Remus murmured.

Arthur rose and clapped him gently on the arm. "Keep walking. Tonks'll come round." Arthur paused. "Lupin, d'you love her?"

Remus bowed his head.

"Two weeks is hardly time to know," he muttered.

"You've known her a lot longer than two weeks," Arthur laughed. "I'll see you later. I've got to get back to Headquarters, Snape has some big announcement to make. Hopefully the whole spy thing's been smoothed over."

"Spy...?" Remus asked.

"Oh yes. He accused Kingsley of thinking he was a spy. Got it from you when he did the Legilimency. Don't feel bad, Snape's a nosy bastard, you know. He told Tonks you thought she was a spy, too, but nobody believed hi -- "

"He said what?"

"That you thought Tonks was a spy..." Arthur put a hand to his mouth, when he saw the murderous look on Remus' face. "You didn't, did you?"

"I'll kill him," Remus said vehemently. Arthur gaped. "He had no business -- no right at all..."

"Tonks?" Arthur demanded. "Of all the people to suspect, you thought Tonks -- you really have buggered up your life, Lupin. You've got your head up your arse."

"What else was I supposed to think?"

"About the woman who is obviously head over heels for you and lucky enough to be the one to grab you by the scruff of the neck and stop you for long enough to -- "

"Head over heels for me? Look at me, Arthur! I'm thirty four years old and I haven't held a steady job since I was nineteen. I couldn't even keep the Hogwarts job. You can count my ribs and I'm already going grey, and oh yes, there's the fact that for three nights a month I have a tail, a snout, and homicidal tendencies! Nobody wants me, not unless I'm useful. Do you really think she had no ulterior motives? Because I sure would like to think that, but I don't live in a fantasy world!"

Arthur stared at him.

"I don't like thinking it," Remus muttered. Arthur continued to stare. "Dammit, Arthur, say something."

"I don't think there's anything I can say." Arthur rubbed his jaw. Remus had seen Ron make the same motion, many times. "Keep walking."

He turned and pushed through the door, out into the bustling hospital.


	7. Chapter 7

How much it was of him we met   
We cannot ever know; nor yet   
Shall all he gave us quite atone   
For what was his, and his alone.  
\-- Edwin Arlington Robertson

"That's it. No rush. The stretch is the important part."

The encouraging voice. The many platitudes. The kind assistance. The gentle urges.

Remus was this close to strangling Danae Pedimentia. 

"I'm not a child," he said, realising as he said it how petulant he sounded.

"Of course not, dear," she replied. "Now, if you get to the bed from here we'll have a lovely dinner brought in."

"I'm not hungry."

"Nonsense, a fine young man like yourself needs some flesh on his bones."

"Healer Pedimentia -- "

"Please! Call me Danae."

Remus gritted his teeth and walked another few steps, stopping for breath at the end of it. That Harpy put her hands on her hips and smiled.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? You're almost to the bed. Did you do your walking this morning?"

"Of course I did."

"Good. If all goes well, tomorrow you'll be walking normally again. Won't that be fun?"

"A riot," he murmured. "The world will be my oyster."

"Now there's the spirit!" she tapped him on his right forearm. "And look how well this is healing," she added, plucking at his left wrist. The wound was nearly closed, though still painful. The new skin was pale, discoloured. "All your visitors will be so pleased."

"My what?" he asked, glancing at her.

"Oh, you know," she waved a hand. "I told them they'd have to wait until after you'd had dinner. Mr. Weasley upset you this morning, I could tell."

"People have been waiting -- and you said -- "

"I said you'd never heal if you were sitting about talking all day!" she said brightly. "Mr. Weasley's come to see you, and his children. And that lovely Mr. Shacklebolt, and of course dear Harry Potter."

He stared at her.

"Get out," he said.

"Now, Mr. Lupin -- "

"Leave this room before I beat you to death with this cane!" he cried. She flinched away from him.

"I'm only trying to help, I'm sure," she said fussily.

"OUT!"

She squeaked and hurried out when he lifted the cane, and he panted for breath. After a moment, Harry peered in the room.

"Did you threaten to kill a Healer?" he asked, by way of greeting.

"I promised," Remus grunted, leaning on the cane. "If she comes back, tell her I'm willing to go to prison just for the pleasure of seeing her suffocate."

"I don't think she's coming back," Harry said. "You want some help?"

"No, I think I'll just...stand for a while. How...how are you? How is...everything?"

Harry shrugged. "Okay I guess. There was some big super-secret meeting I wasn't allowed to be at, as usual."

"I doubt it was as exciting as it sounds," Remus murmured. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You look better," Harry offered.

"Be hard to look worse than I did."

"Ron and Ginny and Hermione came too, but Hermione had to go home, and the others went to get something to eat with Mr. Weasley."

"Oh."

"And Tonks too. I mean she just came for a moment..."

"Did she?"

"Yeah. The Healer came down and said we could go talk to you just as Tonks got there, and she decided to go get Kingsley. So I came in."

"That was nice of you."

Harry toed at the floor with the edge of his trainer. 

"We should get you some new shoes," Remus observed.

"Guess so. I'll do it when I'm in Diagon Alley. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Sort of my job, now, I think."

"Yeah."

"Sirius wanted to, you know."

Harry looked up at him. Remus regarded the boy warily.

"He used to talk about it. He wanted to take you to Diagon Alley for your books, and buy you new robes and all. And he wanted to put his fist through your uncle's head, too," Remus added, pulling a smile from somewhere. 

"So do I," Harry said. 

"Well, once you're out of school I guess you can leave them behind forever."

"I'm counting the days."

"I hear you want to be an Auror."

"If I get in." Harry bit his lip. "You're okay, aren't you?"

"I will be."

"Good."

"I'll find out what the meeting was about," Remus offered. "I think you ought to be in on it. On what we do."

"Thanks."

Another uncomfortable silence. 

"Did Sirius love me?" Harry blurted, suddenly. Remus blinked.

"What...?"

"Did he love me? Like you do?" Harry asked, his words pouring out in a rush. "I mean I know it's stupid to think, he was supposed to love me and that, and it's not like he had to but -- "

"Harry..." Remus swallowed. "You're James' son. Of course he...what do you mean, like I do?"

Harry kicked the floor again. "I saw stuff. When I was helping Professor Snape. And I never got to see in Sirius' thoughts like I did in yours and I just thought..."

Remus watched the boy. "Harry, you are the son of my dearest friend in the world, and Sirius was even closer to James than I was. However much I care about you, Sirius..." he trailed off. "Yes. Yes he did. He asked about you, you know. All the time. He asked me so many questions about you, how you did in school, what were you like, did you fancy any girls, what your favourite colour was, idiotic questions. Every bloody day, questions about you."

Harry nodded. "So I guess he liked me all right, then."

"Yeah."

"You miss him?"

"All the time."

Harry looked thoughtful. Remus waited patiently.

"I'm going to go find Tonks," Harry said finally. "I'm glad you're all right."

"Thanks. Tell her I'd like to see her."

Harry nodded, and backed out the door. Remus watched him go, tapping the cane-tip idly.

 _I want to give him the world,_ Sirius had said once, in an unguarded moment. _I want to give him everything he should have had for fifteen years and I can't even leave this house._

_And I can,_ Remus had replied, _and haven't anything to give._

Sirius had laughed then, and changed the subject quickly. 

Sirius would have laughed at him too, for taking up with Nymphadora Tonks. But Sirius liked Tonks, and would have approved. He might have threatened a bit, she was his cousin after all; might even have warned him off of her. But that day, when Remus gave Harry the motorbike...Sirius would have looked at them sitting on the porch steps and he would have approved. Remus was sure of that.

And James...

He shook his head to clear it, and when he looked up Tonks was standing in the doorway.

"I couldn't find Kingsley," she muttered. "And Harry said you wanted to -- "

"Dora," he said quietly.

"Don't call me that," she replied, closing the door. She drifted forward, not meeting his eyes, and he wondered how many uncomfortable conversations he was going to have that day. 

"I'm sorry."

"Well," she said, "in the grand scheme of your screwups to date, it's a pretty small infraction."

He nodded. She tried to meet his eyes, and he glanced down, quickly. 

"Have you talked with Arthur today?" he asked. 

"No. Not with anyone. I um..." she made a gesture. "I've been tired. And not...much...liking people right now."

"Me either." He paused. "Arthur told me...what Snape said. About you. I'd like you to know, the idea of strangling him barehanded is more appealing by the day."

"Please don't make jokes."

He nodded again. This was Tonks' territory, this unstable boundary between what they had been and what they were. These were her rules, because he was fumbling his way through this, and he was the one who had ruined it in the first place. 

"I want to know when you started thinking that," she said quietly. "Because I want to know if you thought I was a spy and slept with me anyway."

"I never acted on the thought," he said, raising his voice slightly.

Her own voice was like a whipcrack. "So you did. Sleep with me. After you thought I was a Death Eater."

"I never just assumed -- "

"So you used me!" she shouted.

"I can't fight with you about this right now," he said, softly.

"You say that every time we fight!"

"Well, this time it's because I can hardly breathe," he snarled. "In case you hadn't noticed, I nearly bled to death."

"Doesn't seem to have affected your temper at all -- "

"Stop it!" said a new voice. Tonks turned. Remus, bowing his head, didn't have to.

"This is between Tonks and myself, Harry," he said, chest heaving. "Please."

"You're both being idiots," Harry said, standing in the doorway.

Tonks sighed. "It's none of your concer -- "

Harry scowled. "It's every bit my concern!" he cried. "You're my godfather, Remus!"

"Guardian, Harry, guardian," Remus murmured, leaning heavily on the cane. "You're grown past the need for a -- "

"Shut up!" Harry's hands clenched into fists. "And you're not letting him explain!" he added, glaring murderously at Tonks. 

"I hardly see how anyone can explain away thinking I'm a spy while sleeping with me," she said. "Harry, this is not something you should -- "

"You're being stupid!" Harry looked so much like James for a moment that Remus paled. "I want to talk to you, Tonks."

"I'm already shouting at one person, thanks -- " she broke off when he grabbed her sleeve and pulled. Remus watched as Harry dragged her, protesting, from the room, then let out a breath, slowly. His right hand went to his left forearm, where the skin itched. He rubbed it, wincing at the pain, and then turned back to the thick metal cane that he was supposed to be using to help him stretch his muscles. 

***

Outside, Harry pulled her along until they were in a deserted part of the hospital. She went, more because he seemed genuinely upset than because she wanted to go; when he finally stopped, she was so surprised she almost ran into him.

"I'm going to show you something," he said. "Hold still."

"Harry, what are you -- Harry, you're not a Legilimens -- "

"I know how," Harry said, with the supreme confidence of the young. He ignored her protests, pressing his hands to her face, effectively pinning her to the wall, thumbs over the bridge of her nose as he'd seen Snape do. And the world went white...

It was like being in a pensieve. Everything seemed...washed out, not quite real. She looked around, but there wasn't anything to see; just white. A touch on her arm told her Harry was still with her.

"I can't do it right," he said, voice echoing strangely, "But I think I can..."

There was the sound of rushing air, and there was Remus, bent over a desk, writing. Harry pushed her, and she walked forward, looking over his shoulder. She couldn't see anything on the paper, but she could hear him, talking under his breath.

"It's too much, too soon, I'm not ready, I'm playing about fetching Harry while real things are happening in the real world, and I don't want to read them in reports, I want to fix them -- like last time when all I could do was talk. I know what it's like to be a spy, I know what it's like not to be trusted, I can't think of it that way. Snape's watching me. Arthur's watching me. Dumbledore's carefully _not_ watching me. Not because I'm a spy, because I'm supposed to be a leader but nobody's told me how I'm going to do that..."

He trailed off, suddenly, and looked up at her. A smile spread across his face.

"What're you doing here, Dora?" he asked. He pushed back the chair and stood, wrapping an arm around her waist so fast she didn't have time to pull away. "I'm glad you came," he said, face a few inches from hers, hips pressed against her. 

"Is this your memory?" she asked, wide-eyed. He shook his head.

"It's me through Harry," he said. "Surely even Harry couldn't put you right into my head. It's what he took away with him, afterward."

"Oh," she said, a little disappointed. He lifted her chin, spread his fingers across her cheek. 

"So pretty," he said quietly. "So smart. No reason in the world to choose me. And we fit together." He kissed her, lips warm and real on hers. "Fit together so well..."

Suddenly, in the middle of the kiss, he tensed, and stopped.

"Too well," he said. "Nothing's supposed to be this good. Can't be this good. Not for me. My luck doesn't run that way. You can't know me that well, nobody knows me that well, you must be -- you must be looking for...weaknesses...?"

She watched, confused, as he backed away from her. "If I'm in love with you, it must be a trick," he said. "I'm not allowed."

"Remus, that's just stupidity, why would I..." she trailed off, realising.

Snape had only told her that Remus thought she was a spy. He hadn't told her why.

Harry was telling her why.

"I -- I can't talk about this," Remus said, walking backwards, quickly now. "I can't. I have to go. I have places to go -- " he turned and ran, vanishing as he'd come, but before he faded entirely there was a scream of pain, half-cut-off -- 

She started forward and felt a hand on her shoulder. Harry again, holding her back.

"Did it work?" he asked.

"Didn't you see?"

He smiled. "No, I was...having a talk with someone. Did it work?"

She turned and leaned into him, into the soft striped Gryffindor shirt he was wearing, and he wrapped his arms around her and then -- 

Then they were back in the sterile hospital hallway, she pressed to the wall, Harry standing in front of her, hands still on her face. His green eyes watched hers cautiously.

"I didn't do it right," he muttered, hands falling away. "I mean I heard the music but it wasn't quite -- "

"You did fine," she managed, swallowing. "How did you...?"

"I saw Snape doing it and something just...clicked," he said. "The music."

"What music?"

He shook his head. "Just...a thought I had. It's nothing. Um." Harry stepped back and rubbed his neck, thoughtfully. "Tonks, I won't tell."

"Tell...?"

"About..." he gestured, a bit distractedly, to her abdomen. She blushed.

"You could see?" she asked. He nodded. "How...much could you see...?"

"Just a little. One note," he added, almost affectionately. "Is he...I mean...is it Remus?"

She nodded.

"Oh. That's good, I guess. He's normal you know. Not normal, I mean...he's not a werewolf."

Tonks blinked. "Remus isn't?"

"Oh! No -- him. Um." Harry made the gesture again. "Junior."

Tonks, who had suffered a lot in the past few days, began to giggle uncontrollably. "Junior," she gasped, sliding down the wall, tears of laughter on her cheeks. "Harry, it's about two weeks old. You don't even know -- "

"Yes I do," Harry said confidently. He was grinning. "No puppies for Tonks."

"Puppies..." she started laughing all over again. She pushed herself up and grabbed him, pulling him into a real hug. "Thank you, Harry. That was just exactly the slap in the face I needed." 

He squirmed to get free and grinned uncertainly at her, pushing his glasses up on his nose. 

"I think I've got just a little more yelling to do," she said. "But I promise it'll end well this time."

He nodded, and stood in the hallway as she headed back towards Remus' room. 

***

It was so hard to take even a few steps. It wasn't the pain, he was used to pain, it was the feeling of not being able to use his body fully. The annoyance of being at the mercy of others if he needed food, or anything further away than the bathroom.

One, two steps -- just like in the river -- 

He cried out in frustration and threw the cane at the bed. It clattered to the floor, far out of reach.

_Well, now you're really screwed, Lupin._

He took a hesitant, shuffling step towards the bed. One, two. Harry and Tonks waiting for him on the other side, remember that? 

Except Tonks was furious with him, and rightly so...and Harry was just plain furious.

One, two...

The door opened, and he looked up; lost his balance, overcompensated, and fell. The crack of his body against the floor matched perfectly with the sudden stabbing pain in his legs. 

"Oh -- bollocks."

He curled up, waiting for the pain to pass as he knew it would; wanting to say so, wanting to say he was fine, it was just pain, but he couldn't talk, couldn't breathe...

Someone was lifting his shoulders, pulling him up. He whined, but managed to stagger against them and got to the bed, where he finally stood and pushed the other body away. He'd do this himself or not at all.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

That was Tonks' voice, and he looked up; it was Tonks, tear-tracks on her cheeks, eyes wide and confused, who had helped him up. He tried to breathe against the pain.

"I'm okay," he gasped. "Just give me a minute..."

"...it's all right..."

"...and we can yell again..."

"Well, as long as I've got you," she said, putting a hand on his chest, "shut up and listen to me for a minute."

He blinked at her. "Okay," he panted.

"Harry just performed the sweetest Legilimency I've ever seen done by anyone, let alone a teenaged boy," she said, her voice low. He watched warily. "You see he just took his memories of what he saw when he and Snape were working on you, and he shoved them into my head."

"Did it hurt?" he asked, confused now.

"Very much," she replied. "He showed me just why you thought I was a spy."

"Good trick," Remus said bitterly. 

"You thought you weren't worth me?" she asked, brushing hair out of his eyes. He jerked his head away. "You thought nobody could possibly fit you so well, so I must have been faking. I must have had some other motive."

"I tried to stop thinking it."

"Yes, so you ran away. So you wouldn't have to think either way," she finished. He could feel her hip, pressing against his thigh, as he leaned on the bed. "That was really, really stupid, you know."

"Well, I wasn't thinking," he muttered, in a weak attempt at humour.

"Everyone gets allowed a mistake now and then," she said. She slid, a little, so that their bodies were even; this close, he couldn't actually turn so that his face was away from her. "But I expect you to be perfect from now on."

He turned slightly, and caught her eye. "What?"

"You had your big screwup. With me, I mean. The whole spy thing. And the running-away thing. And the almost-dying. I mean normally I'd give you three big screwups, but you sort of blew them all at once." She kissed the side of his mouth. "So from now on, you are not allowed to indulge in stupid self-delusion."

"I don't -- "

"Remus, stop being intentionally thick."

He narrowed his eyes. "Unfair, Tonks."

She nuzzled the spot where his jaw met his neck, felt his pulse jump. "Possibly. But since I love you, and I don't want you running away every time I say it, I figure if I piss you off now, it'll save time in the long run."

He gave a little moan and leaned his head back, letting her touch -- one hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder, face buried in his neck. She was like a drug; not something he could resist at close quarters, not something he wanted to resist. His left arm awkwardly lifted to stroke her hair, and before he realised it he was holding her tight against him, right hand stroking the small of her back.

He kissed her, shocked at the way her mouth opened to accept him, the way she returned the affection. She ought to hate him. At least if she hated him, he had a chance of resisting. He bit her bottom lip, gently.

"Remus," she said quietly.

"Mmm?" he asked, pressing his face to her cheek.

"We can't shag here in your hospital room. It's indecent."

He let out a low laugh -- amused, but frustrated. "Especially since I'm about to fall down anyhow," he answered, and she leaned back, steadying him, helping him up onto the bed. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. 

"Just remember," she said, tipping his chin up. "You've had your mistake. Better be on good behaviour now."

"I still want Snape dead."

"Well, I'll allow that. We could hire a hit wizard."

"I can't afford a hit wizard." 

She smiled, and he closed his eyes, feeling her fingers on his chin, her thumb brush his lips. 

"I want you to tell me," she said softly. He waited, unsure of what she meant. "Remus, you know it's true. Please," she added, and he heard a rare note of vulnerability in her voice.

His lips moved without the slightest involvement from his brain. "I love you, Dora," he said. 

She kissed his forehead. "Good boy," she replied, against his skin. 

***

The hardest part, as it turned out, was learning to use his left hand again. 

The muscles hadn't healed clean, thanks to the Muggle hospital he'd spent three days unconscious in. It ached when he flattened his fingers, and the Healers said there was only so much they could do. Already they were teaching him to walk again, helping to fade the dark scar-skin on most of his wounds, still dusted with the blue healing powder. Helping make sure his right hand healed better than his left. The pain was fading, it was true. 

He supposed he was lucky. In a Muggle hospital it would take weeks, months, for him to recover. In St. Mungo's it was a matter of days, sometimes even hours. That Harpy didn't come back, and instead Augustus Pye supervised his progress. Other Healers were brought in to see his wounds -- it was instructional, and a specialist in werewolf physiology even came in from Rome to study his progress.

And still, there was one even better thing: the Aurors would foot the bill. 

The gnawing fear of debt, always present in the back of his head, faded a little when Kingsley informed him of that. Remus had shown them where a pack had lived, and led them -- however indirectly -- to a slaughter ground. They were grateful, and Jack Longbottom showed his gratitude freely. 

Jack Longbottom also wanted to recruit him. Remus had been rejected from the Aurors years before, for his werewolf blood, and now had too much Order business to deal with to even consider training. He sent Longbottom a polite, subtextually bitter denial.

"We're almost there," Tonks said quietly, over the engine and the traffic noises. She was slightly overawed by the car that was taking them to Grimmauld Place; the Healers had said he shouldn't travel by floo or Apparation for a good two weeks, to be safe, and he heartily agreed. "Almost home."

"Home for me," he said, keeping his eyes closed. The cab was an unpleasantly jerky contrivance, and he felt less ill if he didn't look out the window. "Sad sort of place to call home."

"Not always," Tonks answered. Remus heard Arthur Weasley chuckle, from the seat across from him, and opened one eye lazily.

"You didn't have to come fetch me, you know, I'm not an invalid," he said, all evidence to the contrary. Even in the balmy summer day he was chilly, and while walking came easier, his breath didn't. 

The cab jerked to a halt, and Arthur hesitantly paid the man; Remus kept an eye on the bills changing hands, to make sure he wasn't overpaying. Finally they were out; 12 Grimmauld Place came rushing up from nothingness, and he began the walk from the street to the front door, well aware of the ragged state of his clothing. Tonks had brought spares from his bureau, though he suspected the shirt was newly purchased -- he didn't think he owned any this nice. 

A new shirt didn't hide the deep hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes, he was aware of that. He hoped he didn't frighten anyone. 

Arthur opened the door and Tonks put a hand on the small of his back as he walked through, expecting the usual silent sitting room he always came home to at Grimmauld Place.

Instead, every couch and chair in the room was full, and people stood against the walls, and sat on chairs stolen from the dining room, benches taken from the yard. Nearly the entire Order must be there, he thought, automatically counting heads. Yes; the entire Order, plus Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.

"A meeting?" he asked, confused. He turned to Tonks, who smiled and shook her head.

"Welcome home, Remus," Molly said, coming forward and hugging him, gingerly. 

"Thank you, Molly," he said, bending into the hug, his voice sounding strange and alien even to himself. 

"We thought about a real surprise party, but then mum said it'd kill you," said George, with a grin. "So. Surprise."

Remus' eyes swept the Order again. "For me?" he asked.

"We missed you," Arabella Figg said. 

He looked around. "You do know it's my own damn fault?" he said. There was a ripple of laughter. Tonks leaned against his shoulder, affectionately. 

"Not a bad place to call home," she said softly.

"Got marching orders for us, Lupin?" Mundungus Fletcher asked, with a sly grin. "Preferably involving food. And drink. Molly cooked an entire flock of turkeys."

"Two!" Molly said. "And they're small."

"That sounds good," Remus said slowly. "That sounds like a good plan."

The crowd began to drift into the kitchen, slowly, and Remus kept back, not wanting to fall into the mass of bodies just yet. Dumbledore caught his eye as he passed, and gestured him on.

"Molly's stuffing is really quite exquisite," he called. "She puts currants in it. Nothing I like better than currants in stuffing."

"Me either," Remus said, moving forward hesitantly. An idea was rising in the back of his head; in the way Dumbledore had looked at him when he'd walked in, in the way Harry had found his side and refused to leave it. 

His legs were working better, but still stiff as he settled onto a bench in the kitchen, Harry on one side of him, Tonks on the other. The Weasleys and some of the more senior Order members sat around the table, and the rest of the Order on chairs nearby -- it seemed so large when he saw them all together, though in reality it was only perhaps thirty people, if that. Molly gave him a plate covered in turkey and stuffing, gravy, vegetables, and yorkshire puddings -- she knew he liked those especially. She must have been cooking for two days, he thought, eyeing the mountain of food before him. 

He hadn't eaten well in the hospital, and suddenly he was ravenous...

He listened to the conversations go on around him: Harry discussing the motorbike still, and his plans to keep it in Hogsmeade; Kingsley and Tonks talking shop in low tones; Arthur discussing publicity with one of the newest Order recruits, a nervous young journalist for the Prophet. The lad had been able to keep Remus' name out of the papers, though not the slaughter of the pack; still, Remus was grateful for that small mercy. 

"It is a dangerous way of working, but it is the only way," Dumbledore was saying to the journalist, solemnly. "If we wish to succeed, we must take risks."

"Although," Remus added, "There's a large difference between risks and stupidity." He held up his fingers, showing the jagged white scar across his palm where a wolf had tried to pull his right hand off. He saw Moody study it with interest; Molly winced, and Arthur put his arm around his wife's shoulders, looking away from the scar. "I crossed the line and I paid for it," Remus continued. "Let's not forget that. But I think..."

He glanced at Dumbledore. Dumbledore led the Order; it wasn't his place to decide these things, but it was his place to voice his opinion. Arthur and Molly were looking expectant. Dumbledore nodded, slowly. Remus swallowed, and continued, stammering over the first few words.

"I think it...I think it's time...that we started taking more risks," he said slowly. "I think it's time we ended this. No more playing at stopping the little things, no more skirmishes."

"Five on one isn't a skirmish, it's a slaughter," Harry murmured.

"I want to know what's been going on since the pack was destroyed," Remus continued. "We'll hold briefings tonight. And tomorrow..." he looked at Dumbledore again, but the older man was watching him intently. "Tomorrow we are going to start planning how to stop this once and for all. I want this done. I want him destroyed. Utterly and completely. I want him and his followers wiped off the face of this earth."

Snape, who had chosen a far corner and done little more than pick at his dinner, raised his head.

"Brave talk," he said.

"Either we're brave or we fail," Remus replied. "Which would you like, Severus?"

"Don't ask me about winning," Snape replied. "I've been waiting for someone to make up their mind about this for months."

"Then you'll be falling in behind the plan," Remus replied. "That's good. We'll need you."

"Best be sure I'm not just lying to you," Snape answered bitterly. "Best be sure I'm not going to feed this back to the Dark Lord."

There was an awkward pause. Remus glanced at Kingsley, and shook his head slowly.

"We are not discussing loyalty or lack thereof tonight," he said. "Tonight we are discussing what we know, and what we can use."

"Then I think you'd better look in the backyard first, after dinner," Arthur said. "Snape's got an experiment out there you ought to see."

***

Snape's experiment turned out to be an enormous cement birdbath, a spare car tyre, three garden gnomes, a large, broad metal washtub, and a tin Christmas-tree topper in the shape of an angel -- with a small, jaunty witch's hat cocked over her halo.

"Fred and George built it," Harry said, as Remus stared in awestruck horror at the monstrosity. 

The bird-bath sat in the washtub, and the car tyre sat flat in the birdbath; the gnomes were clustered in a sort of pyramid of bad taste on top. The Christmas Witch was apparently somehow glued to the tips of their hats.

One of the garden gnomes was fishing off the end of the birdbath. Fred and George had tied a small Hogwarts pennant flag to its fishing pole. 

"What on earth is it?" Remus asked. Arthur chuckled. Snape came forward, descending the porch steps to stand next to the thing. It was taller than he was. 

"As horrifying as it is..." he growled, digging in his pocket for a black silk pouch, "...it serves its purpose."

He bent and drew a finger through the water filling the washtub. After a second, he sprinkled the powder into the water, and murmured a few words, stirring the surface with his wand. 

There was a spark, and he stepped back quickly; the water began to pour -- upwards, over the bird-bath, the tyre, the gnomes and their Hogwarts pennant, and the tree-topper. It burst off the top of the Witch's hat, splashing back down over the entire thing. Other jets of water shot out from the noses of the gnomes, and the floral accents on the birdbath. 

It was the most bizarre fountain Remus had ever seen. Snape regarded it with a mixture of pride and distaste. 

"It's a Crinon," Remus said.

"As usual, your grasp of the obvious is truly remarkable," Snape answered.

"Severus has a theory," Tonks said softly. "Everywhere we've found traces of the Dark Lord -- "

" -- we've found Crinons," Snape finished for her. "I've been studying them while you've been...recuperating," he added, lip curling slightly. "They're tapping into the magic inherent in the area -- children born with magical ability, old artefacts, anything that might supply some form of power."

"How is that possible?"

"Dark Arts," Arthur muttered. 

"The rest are probably hidden. The only times we've found them are when he's already moved on," Fred added. "He may even have a few in big magical centres -- nobody'd miss a little magic in Diagon Alley, if it wasn't taking too much."

"Funneling power back to him," Remus mused.

"A lot of power," George said. "We think."

Snape picked up a pinch of something from a bowl near the fountain, and tossed it against one of the gnomes. The water cascaded down into the washtub again, and, after a moment, was still.

"The trouble lies in finding out how he arranged for the fountains to work that way in the first place. They're not designed to," Snape said. "And, once we discover that, how to stop them."

Remus gestured to the now-defunct fountain. Snape shook his head.

"It won't be that easy," he said.

"Can you do it?"

"With time, and resources."

Remus nodded. "I'll make sure you have what you need."

Snape pointed to the twins. "They're not entirely untalented."

Fred and George grinned at each other. 

"They're yours," Remus answered. The twins snorted in amusement. 

Remus ducked back into the house, following Arthur and Molly. He could feel Tonks' hand on his shoulder, could hear Fred and George already bickering with Snape. Harry still hadn't left his side. 

"Call everyone together," he said, in a low voice, to Tonks. "We'll hear everything tonight. Harry..."

Harry glanced up at him, and nodded. "Ron and Hermione and I'll go play gobstones or something," he said, only mildly sarcastically. 

"I'll tell you later," Remus promised. He reached out and tousled Harry's hair -- good lord, the lad was almost as tall as he was, now. 

"Doesn't matter," Harry said with a grin. "I could suck it right out of your brain if I had to."

Remus gave him a smile. "I wouldn't advise it. I'm still your guardian until you're eighteen. I could confiscate the motorbike, you know."

Harry just shook his head and broke off to bound up the stairs, followed by Ron and Hermione. Remus continued into the sitting room, finding his favourite chair and dropping into it. He ought to hide his exhaustion; it shouldn't tire a man his age to walk from the kitchen to the yard and back. Slowly the others filed in, including Dumbledore. Remus looked to him, and the Headmaster nodded.

"Now that we are all assembled," Dumbledore said, his voice firm and carrying, "I should like to know what is going on in the wide world outside Grimmauld Place."

Remus steepled his fingers and leaned forward. The scar on his arm throbbed.

Good. It would keep him awake.

He found Mundungus Fletcher, who was giving a report on rumoured Death Eaters among some smugglers off the coast of Scotland, and listened carefully, absorbing the information as he had since he was a child -- by listening, and watching, and asking questions.

***

It was midnight when Molly Weasley noticed, across the room, that Remus was asleep. 

There were far fewer people there now, as Dumbledore had dismissed people after their reports were done. Remus had been leaning forward, listening intently, chin resting on his hands; he still was leaning forward, but she saw, past the shadows, that his eyes were closed. She nudged Dumbledore, seated nearby.

"Thank you, Schobel," Dumbledore said, smiling encouragingly at the young Prophet reporter. "I think you're the last of the night."

Schobel nodded and swallowed. "I'll just...floo then..." he stammered, nervously. The flare of flame from his hasty departure woke Remus, who tensed and straightened.

"Is that all of them?" he asked, blinking. Molly grinned. 

"All for tonight. For you anyway," she said.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Of course not."

"I wasn't," he insisted, eyelids drooping. Tonks stood, tugging on his right arm.

"You're not supposed to overextend yourself," she said, as he rose and rubbed his jaw sleepily.

"I hardly think sitting and listening is overextending," he answered sullenly. A yawn interrupted his complaint. "Tomorrow we should have a meeting...Snape and the Weasleys and Dumbledore and you and Kingsley and me, and..." he groped for more names. 

"Arthur will take care of it," Molly said. "Get him to bed, Tonks."

"Hah..." Remus leaned on Tonks' shoulder, nuzzling her neck affectionately. "Bed indeed. Goo'night..."

Tonks guided him towards the stairs, up to the landing, and through his rooms, silently, supporting him when he stumbled on the stairs. 

"Not that tired," he muttered, leaning against her as she reached out to unbutton his shirt. "I could've stayed up."

"Could you now?" 

"Don't patronise me," Remus said, another yawn rather interrupting the drama of the statement.

"Don't act like a child," Tonks replied, fingers sliding down his shirt, deftly undoing the buttons. "I thought you were going to be on good behaviour."

"Am," he answered, pulling her close, pinning her hands against his chest. "Good behaviour. Being a leader. Planning things. Not thinking about anyone at all being a spy."

"Good," she answered, pushing gently. "But I think what you need now is sleep."

"A good hobby," he yawned, as she tugged his shirt off his shoulders. The phrase stopped her, and she looked at him, stunned and hurt. His lips curved upwards. "Guess I can give it up though...makes a better life, really, than a hobby."

She thought she saw, just for a second, a spark of amber in his brown eyes; she must have imagined it. 

"Thinking of making a career of it?" she asked with a smile.

"Well. We'll see," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "Sleep, were you saying?"

"You should. You're exhausted. You don't look well."

"Thanks."

"You know what I meant."

"Mm. Want to stay? Here, I mean?" he asked. There was a sort of pleading in his eyes that she was shamefully glad to see.

"I think I might like that," she answered. "You go on. I'll be there in a second."

He nodded and began to remove his shoes, while she crossed the landing and leaned down the stairs.

"Molly," she called. "Think I'm needed?"

Molly's friendly face appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I think not, Tonks," she called back. "We're just seeing everyone off."

"Going to make sure he doesn't fall asleep in a chair or something."

Molly grinned, slyly. "Good idea. Don't wear him out."

"Promise," Tonks replied with a likewise grin, the sort that struck terror into the hearts of men. "Night..."

"Night, Tonks," the reply drifted up, as Tonks moved back through the dark rooms. He'd managed to undress in the few minutes she'd been gone; he was curled up now, in the usual mess of sheets and blankets that his bed perpetually seemed to be. By the time she was ready to sleep, he was snoring softly.

"Man of my dreams," she sighed as she slid under the covers, curling up against him. His hands moved, covering her body, arms wrapping around hers. The movement was so automatic, and so instinctual, that she smiled. 

"Got you," he mumbled, against her neck. "Can't get away now."

"I'm not the one who wanted to run," she answered softly. 

"No," he said. "That was your fool of a boyfriend."

"He's dumb, but loveable."

"Love you, Dora," he muttered.

"I know," she answered, feeling his hand on her stomach. Her own covered it. She felt him sigh, and slip back into sleep. After a few minutes, her own eyes shut, though it was a long time before she truly slept.

***

Remus Lupin woke to an empty bed, and enough light slanting through the bedroom windows to tell him that he had slept far later than he'd intended; the clock on the wall said it was two in the afternoon.

"Bollocks, the meeting," he said with feeling, sliding out of the nest of blankets and stumbling towards the sitting room -- 

Which was full of people.

He blinked, realised that, in his boxers, he was wearing less than he had possibly ever worn in the presence of this many people, and stepped back into his bedroom, closing the door. After a second, he opened it a crack, and put his head through.

"You really aren't getting enough to eat," Molly said disapprovingly. "And you need a haircut."

"What are you doing in my sitting room?" he asked, trying not to think about being seen in his boxers by -- 

"Having a meeting," Dumbledore said, calmly. "Tonks suggested that this was a good way to keep an eye on you while we did so."

"Tonks, could I have a word in private?" he asked. She smiled and shook her head. Fred and George elbowed each other.

"Fine, just be a mo," he sighed, and shut the door again. He heard Arthur's low laughter as he fumbled for clothing, and gave his hair a despairing look in the mirror before deciding it wasn't worth trying to control it. When he emerged, squinting, into the sitting room, the talk seemed to be centred around Snape's experiments. Snape, he noticed, was not present. 

"We were under orders to let you sleep," Tonks said, glancing at Molly. 

"For fourteen hours?" he asked.

"You're still healing," Molly said, with the supremely unconcerned air of a woman who has raised seven children. "Sit down. We haven't managed anything useful since last night."

"Dumbledore seems to think you have a plan," Kingsley added. 

"Does he now," Remus murmured, settling himself on the much-abused couch. 

"You do have a plan, don't you?" Fred asked. "You sounded like you had a plan."

Remus examined the scar on his palm, thoughtfully. "Sort of," he said quietly. "More of a goal, really."

"Got anything to do with the fountains?" George asked.

"Yes...yes. We need to erm. Find them," Remus answered, slowly.

"That's your plan?"

"It's a step."

"How?"

"I don't know yet."

The twins looked pensive. 

"It's not as though there's a big book in my bedroom on how to plot the downfall of the Dark Lord," Remus said shortly. "Do give a man five minutes to wake up."

"Got to write the book, don't you?" Arthur asked. 

"Why've I got to do it?" Remus demanded. 

"Well, you sort of locked yourself in after last night."

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, resting his chin in them eventually. "Right. Fine. All right...we have people in the Prophet, the Ministry, and we've got Snape in the organisation itself. Don't touch the two fountains we've found. Fred, George, I want you working with Snape to see if you can't track the other fountains through the first two. We need to know where they are. Ummm...Arthur, Kingsley, Tonks. Harry's told us who the big names are. Any of them we can find and track, we need to start doing so. Trip them up however we can. Keep tabs on the Malfoys, the Lestrange offshoots..."

Arthur smiled. "The usual suspects. Reports going back to you?"

"No, you and Molly handle that, and be checking in with Dumbledore. Gaps in the armor."

"Good as done."

"We need someone working with the Prophet to get as much trouble for the old families as possible. It shouldn't be hard to start aiming cameras at them, Muggles do it to their famous families all the time."

"What's going on in that devious head of yours?" Arthur asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Mostly the fact that I'm starving," Remus muttered. 

"Suits you then," Arthur replied. "Makes you a bit keen, doesn't it?" 

"I think a late lunch would do us all good," Dumbledore said, rising. "I believe there are leftovers still remaining..."

Harry and Hermione came in, flush from the outdoors, Harry with a smear of grease across his cheek, just as the others were trying to find enough bread for everyone to have sandwiches. 

"Sorting out some engine things," Harry said, by way of explanation, washing his hands in the sink. "Ron's gone off to the Burrow, he says Mr. Weasley's got some books on motorcycle maintenance."

Molly looked at Arthur, who blushed.

"Got a library of books on Muggle mechanics," he said. "Came in dead handy with the car."

"Think I want to take the motorbike out this weekend," Harry continued, accepting a plate of food from Remus, who was scrounging some cheese for his own sandwich. 

"Not a bad idea," the older man replied. "Nice short first flight, too."

Harry looked at him quizzically.

"Got to take you to get your books and that. For school," Remus reminded him. "Erm...if you want me to, anyway. Reckon you could go with Hermione and Ron..."

"Wait till Malfoy sees Harry's bike," Hermione said gleefully. 

"You can come if you want," Harry said to Remus, shrugging elaborately. 

"Got it!" Ron's voice echoed from the other room, and he stomped in, looking cheerful. "Zen and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance!"

Hermione turned a laugh quickly into a cough.

"Ta, Ron," Harry said, taking the book. 

"We were talking about going to Diagon Alley this weekend, to get your school things," Molly said, as Ron sat and began unconcernedly eating half of Harry's sandwich. 

"Hey, you go to Knockturn Alley, don't you?" Harry asked, turning to Remus. 

"Yes I do, and no, you can't come along." Remus looked up to see forty percent of the Weasley family staring at him. "Research books," he said. "Flourish and Blott's won't carry the really interesting sort."

"I like resear -- "

"No, Hermione, you can't come along either. Ron, don't even try."

Hermione very nearly pouted. 

"We'll take you," Fred offered.

"You do and I'll bite you both," Remus said, without looking up from his sandwich.

"Joykill," Fred muttered.

"Yes, my attempts to keep Harry from meeting a painful, premature end could be interpreted that way."

"I don't like him when he's been fed," George said, to his twin.

"I'm all for not dying," Harry put in.

"Glad we're on the same page there, Harry," Remus said. 

"I do need new robes," Harry continued. "And my cauldron's gone rusty."

"And you need a new coat," Tonks said, to Remus. "And there's some books I could pick up."

Remus shrugged. He did need a new coat; autumn was coming, and his old coat was losing its sleeves beyond his ability to repair them. On the other hand, that was money he didn't have...thank god James and Lily had left Harry something to live on. He would have starved before letting Harry go without, but he was glad he didn't have to.

"Diagon Alley it is, then," he said. "Saturday?"

"And I can take the motorbike?" Harry asked. "And meet you there?"

"If you're careful, and don't flash it about," Remus replied. "Arthur...?"

Arthur looked up. "Oh, technically it's all right. It's been licensed, I remember handling the paperwork, and there's a special transportation clause when it's for individual use..."

"As opposed to a trio of troublemakers abducting the Boy Who Lived from his family home in a flying car," Molly said sternly. The twins winced. 

"I want you to be careful," Remus said. Harry nodded. "And don't do any tricks, it's not a broomstick."

"I won't."

"And you'll wear the helmet. And make sure you're ready with a good levitation spell if something fails. And I want you to -- "

Tonks put a calming hand on his arm, and Remus subsided.

"Didn't spend all this time making sure he didn't die only to have him crash the bloody thing," Remus muttered.

"Seems to me I recall you crashing it, once," Arthur said with a grin. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at him inquiringly.

"I didn't crash it. It was fine in a few days," Remus protested. "Sirius -- "

He stopped, abruptly.

"Well. It's Harry's now," he said finally. "And no riding it while you're in school," he added.

Harry rolled his eyes and agreed, before turning to Ron and Hermione to begin plotting his flight.

***

The afternoon, after there had been more talk and a report from Snape, was spent in enforced lassitude; summer was waning, but the sun was still out, and after a week inside a hospital room, Remus was more than happy to sit out on the back steps and watch Snape and the twins tinker with the fountain, while discussing strategy with Arthur. 

"Dumbledore's trusting you with an awful lot," Arthur said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

"Do you think it's unwise?" 

"No. Though I don't think it's good for you. It's a lot for one person to carry. Mentally, I mean."

"I'll be all right," Remus answered. "It's not like I'm not used to it."

"Do you think you can..." Arthur glanced at him. "Do you think you're..."

"Able? To carry it?"

Arthur nodded. "I'd be terrified, if it was me Dumbledore was putting this on," he said, looking away.

"You've given your pound of flesh," Remus shook his head. "Nobody's asking you to take on anything more, Arthur. Ye gods, if I had children..."

"You've got Harry."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Harry's in this whether he wants to be or not. You had a choice. So did Molly and your lads."

"No, we didn't."

Remus shot him a small smile. "No. Perhaps not. The true noble family of the Wizarding world."

"Toujours Weasley."

The pair of them laughed, quietly, as Tonks and Harry came down the steps. Tonks settled next to him, while Harry went to investigate what the twins were doing with one of the garden gnomes on the fountain. 

"So what is the plan, if I can ask?" Arthur said, grinning at his boys. 

"We kill Voldemort."

"That's a good plan," Tonks put in. "I'm behind it."

"When I visited...when I spoke with the pack's Alpha..." Remus said haltingly. He took a breath. "He said that there were wolves who had to battle with humans. In order to win, they had to become like humans. Thus, werewolves."

Tonks' thumb rubbed across the back of his hand, as she leaned on his arm. 

"My ideals want to tell me that we can't be like them, that if the Order thinks like the Death Eaters, we don't deserve to win," Remus said softly. "And my blood and instinct is telling me that I would strangle Lucius Malfoy with my own hands before I'd let him touch Harry. So I'm going to make sure we can destroy the Crinons. All of them. At once. By the time we've found enough of them to make a dent, we'll have destroyed some of the bigger families. Some of them now are only sticking with the Dark Lord because they've got that bloody Mark. As long as he's got them Marked, he's got a grip on their minds and hearts. Destroy his power, destroy his people, and then..."

He looked out at Harry, who was laughing with George over a jet of water that had just hit Fred in the face.

"Then Harry is going to use what Severus Snape taught him," he said softly, "and he's going to go into the Dark Lord's head, because he's the only one who can...and twist."

Tonks shivered. Arthur looked pale.

"Why Harry?" Arthur asked.

"Because it's always been Harry. It'll always be Harry. It's what he was born for."

"That's hard on the boy," Arthur said slowly.

"I expect to die in the fight," Remus replied. "Harry's a survivor, he probably won't -- "

"Don't say that," Arthur said sharply.

"Nobody's going to die," Tonks added.

"In a perfect world," Remus answered, softly. Tonks pressed her face to his shoulder.

"Arthur, can we talk alone for a minute?" she asked. The older man smiled and nodded, and walked down the steps, his red hair turning copper in the light of the sunset. 

"I don't want you to die," Tonks said, when he'd gone. Remus smiled.

"Well, I don't want to. And you know, I probably won't. But I'm something of a cynic."

"Not really? You?"

"Be nice," he chided. She smiled and picked up his right hand, spreading his fingers, running her own over the dark, jagged scar.

"I have something I need to tell you," she informed him. "I'm sorry Harry found out first, but he was in my head too, and he couldn't really help it."

He drew his eyebrows together, confused. She stood and faced him, standing on a low step, and raised his hand to press it flat against her stomach, low and centred.

"I found out...just a little while after they brought you in. Nobody knows but you and me, and Harry, and Healer Smethwyck," she said, holding his palm there.

"Found out..." he trailed off, eyes widening. "Found out?"

She nodded, her smile widening slightly. "Apparently it was Harry's birthday party. I'd like to think it's that, anyway."

"Think it's...but we..."

"You're going to be a daddy, Remus."

There was a slight pause.

"I can't even afford to feed myself," he blurted, finally.

"Well, fortunately, you will not have to be a single father," Tonks replied, grinning. "Besides, I can afford to feed myself, and a baby, and maybe even his papa, too. If papa doesn't decide he's got to die in some fool battle."

Remus closed his eyes, feeling the pads of his fingertips on her clothing, the smooth flat skin beneath. He should be overjoyed; instead there was just the fear. The fear that any child of his was going to be abnormal, unnatural...

"What if it's -- " he began, but she stopped him.

"Remus," she said softly. "What if he is? Will you love him any less?"

"No, of course not -- "

"Then let's not worry until we have to," she said. "I love Daddy. I will love baby too."

"Oh god..."

"Hey, that's what you said when we were making hi -- "

"Dora, that's not funny."

"It's very funny," she whispered, and he felt her lips brush his. Eyes closed, he hadn't even realised she had bent over. Her heart-shaped face was inches from his, her eyes searching his.

"I'm too old for you," he murmured, looking down.

"Doesn't matter," she replied. 

"Do you not remember me running off to get chewed to bits by ferals?"

"Well, you won't do that again. and if you ever really screw up, we'll call Harry in to be peacemaker."

He gave in and let her kiss him, too tired to do more than kiss back, and stroke his fingers across her stomach.

"An April baby," he said, doing the math in his head, carefully. "Or early in May?"

"I love you more than is good for me," she replied. "Yes. A baby born in April. Or maybe May. A little boy."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do," she replied, nuzzling his cheek. "Harry told me so." 

"My god, I love you," he murmured. "When did that happen?"

"You're just saying that cos you knocked me up," she answered. He laughed weakly and pulled her down to him. She curled against his shoulder again, his arm around her waist, fingers still stroking her stomach, gently.

"So you see," she said, against his sleeve, "You're not allowed to die. Battle or no."

He nodded. Next to him, she screwed up her face, and her hair changed from deep black to bright orange.

"Suits you," he said.

"Remus, you are not allowed to die," she repeated.

"Well, I'm not trying to."

"Aren't you?"

He glanced at her.

"Not anymore."

The sun slid behind a tree, and darkness began to encroach on the red sky. In the yard, Harry was earnestly explaining something to Arthur, while Snape listened in what looked almost like approval. The twins were flinging water at each other, and the gnomes grinned crookedly atop the birdbath. 

"We're going to win, you know," Remus said quietly.

"I know."

"And I'm going to tell him."

"Harry?"

He shook his head. 

"My son," he said, trying the words to see how they fit. "I'm going to tell my son what we did here."

Tonks snorted. "I wouldn't tell him everything we did here, Remus."

He laughed. "No. But he's going to know what we did for him. And for Harry, and Harry's children, if he has any, and all the rest of them. We're going to win. And after we do we're going to tell the stories. People should have stories."

"People should," she agreed, yawning. "Now. I think we ought to go inside and do something you can't ever tell your son about."

He smiled, and let himself be led into the house.


End file.
